


How Would You Feel (If I Told You I Loved You)

by Only_angel_28



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Best Friends, Blow Jobs, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Sex, Fireworks, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Harry is Louis’ baby, Hot Chocolate, Hot Tub, Karaoke, Laughter During Sex, Louis Tomlinson Calls Harry Styles Pet Names, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Love, Massage, New Year's Eve, Nipple Play, OT5 Friendship, POV Harry, Pining, Riding, Romance, Romantic Gestures, Serenading, Shameless Louis worship, Sharing Clothes, Sharing a Bed, Skiing, Slow Dancing, Snow, Song Lyrics, Switzerland, This is so fluffy and indulgent I'm sorry, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-03-05 10:31:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 81,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13385973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Only_angel_28/pseuds/Only_angel_28
Summary: An AU inspired by the music video for Ed Sheeran's song Perfect featuring two idiots who are too thick to see that their friendship is anything but platonic, lots of pining, too many terms of endearment to count, a wedding, slow dancing, a couple of steamy hot tub moments, karaoke, snow, a healthy dose of cuddling, love confessions, and Harry and Louis being quite generous to each other.*Or the one where Harry has been in love with his best friend for four years, and New Year's Eve at his family's holiday home in Switzerland is perfect for finally telling Louis how he feels.





	1. I found a love for me

**Author's Note:**

> *Inspired by the music video for Ed Sheeran's song Perfect. 
> 
> YOU GUYSSS! The frist time I watched this video (and pretty much every time after, let's be honest) I just melted. Naturally, my first thought was to turn it into a Larry fic. Somehow, this has turned out to be the longest thing I've ever written, and I have no clue how.
> 
> I wanted to have this posted for New Year's, but life happened and the length of this surprised me a bit so I've decided to post it in chapters. It's nearly finished so there shouldn't be any reason to worry about me leaving you hanging. 
> 
> *When I first started writing this fic, I was going to set it in the same town that was used for the music video, but I found out that the video was filmed in Austria rather than Switzerland as I had initially thought. For some reason I just pictured this fic taking place in Switzerland, so I decided to go with that and try to find a town there that would suit my needs. At first glance, I thought Zermatt would be a perfect setting, but after doing further research, I discovered it wouldn’t be able to use a lot of my ideas for this story if it took place there (ex: there are no cars allowed in Zermatt). Instead of trying to re-work my whole fic around the town, I decided to create a fictional one of my own. Thus, the village of Adalheid was born. I chose that name because it means “golden,” in Swiss which I thought was appropriate. Although I created a fictional town for the setting, there will be mentions of real places woven into the story as well (such as Zermatt, because I kind of fell in love with it whilst researching). Unfortunately, I have never had the privilege of visiting Switzerland myself, so please excuse any glaring inaccuracies. 
> 
> Songs used as inspiration for this fic:  
> Perfect-Ed Sheeran (obviously)  
> How Would You Feel-Ed Sheeran  
> Photograph-Ed Sheeran  
> 18-One Direction  
> (more songs to be added in upcoming chapters)
> 
> *Title from How Would You Feel by (surprise!) Ed Sheeran
> 
> Phew, okay sorry for writing a novel! I think that's everything. Happy New Year, loves! Comments and kudos make me a happy girl, so please do let me know what you think. Xx

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry invites Louis to attend Gemma's wedding with him at his family's holiday home in Switzerland. Everyone loves Louis, Harry most of all.

****

**2013**  

It all started with a wedding. Gemma’s wedding, to be specific. At the tender age of twenty-two, Harry’s beloved older sister had already found the love of her life, and hadn’t seen the point in waiting to start her happily ever after. Harry could hardly begrudge her, even being only eighteen himself, he was more than ready to find his soul mate and settle down. He had always thought that meeting your spouse at a young age would be incredibly romantic. What better way to discover someone’s true character than to watch them mature from late adolescence and blossom into adulthood? The idea of growing up together, of making mistakes and learning from them, of finding where you fit in this world with the right person by your side through it all, was one Harry had been intrigued by. Thus, it came as little surprise to Harry when he also met his soul mate just a few weeks after Gemma’s engagement. Unfortunately, said soul mate came in the form of Harry’s best friend. 

Harry met Louis his first year at Uni, and the connection between them was instant. For Harry, that connection manifested in love at first sight. For Louis, it meant adding another mate to his ever-growing repertoire of friends. Everyone loved Louis, see; it was bloody impossible not to, but what Harry and Louis had was special. In no time at all, they were absolutely inseparable. Harry easily slipped into a role in Louis’ life that had previously been held by people Louis had known for years. 

He introduced Harry to his friend Zayn, whom he had gone to sixth form with, and Liam, who he played footie with on the university team. Harry brought his loveable Irish git of a roommate, Niall, into the equation, and immediately the five of them just clicked. They became a unit so quickly and easily, that Harry was hardly able to comprehend what his life had been like before knowing the four other lads. Of course there were different dynamics and individual friendships happening within their group of five, but it was typical for them to spend most of their time together as a unit. 

It had always been different between Harry and Louis though, their friendship unique amongst the others in their group. They had always been extremely tactile, right from the get go, and almost co-dependent. As rare as it was to see the five of them not in each other’s presence, it was rarer still to see Harry not within touching distance of Louis and vice versa. They spent nearly every waking moment together, and the few hours a day they did spend apart – mandated by opposing course schedules and Louis’ footie training regime – Harry missed Louis terribly. Despite the other three boys’ incredulity at the extremely close nature of their relationship, and near constant teasing, Harry and Louis never grew tired of one another, both of them content to spend as much time as physically possible together. Their affinity for playful banter and frequent use of sickeningly sweet terms of endearment when addressing one another quickly earned them the title of “old married couple” by their friends. 

Things were great, _wonderful_ even, but that didn’t stop Harry’s traitorous heart from trying to beat straight out of his chest and present itself to Louis at every given opportunity. So, when Gemma – having gotten engaged the summer before Harry started Uni – announced that she and her fiancé, Thayer, were planning to marry over the winter holidays at the Styles-Twist family’s ski chalet in Switzerland, Harry’s mind immediately went to Louis when his sister informed him that he could bring a date. It was to be a fairly small, intimate affair, the wedding; taking place in a clearing in the woods that lined their property. There was a scenic outlook with a breathtaking view of the Matterhorn that would serve as the perfect backdrop for Gemma and Thayer to recite their vows and commit their lives to one another. Only their relatives and a select handful of close mutual friends would be attending. 

Louis, coming from a modest working class family, hadn’t gone on many holidays growing up and had never been to Switzerland. As such, he was beyond thrilled when Harry extended the invitation to attend the wedding with him. He spent weeks rubbing it in the other lad’s faces, going on and on about how excited he was to spend New Year’s at what he referred to as Harry’s “posh boy holiday house.” 

Harry knew it wasn’t an actual date in the true sense of the word, and he hadn’t phrased it as such when he had asked Louis about coming. He had simply said Gemma had told him he could invite only one of his friends since they were keeping the guest list small, and Louis was the one he wanted to share it with. Unfortunately, Harry’s pesky little heart didn’t seem to get the memo, as it quickened and threw itself into overdrive any time the wedding was mentioned (which was a lot) and he thought about spending the entire weekend (relatively) alone with Louis. He became so distracted conjuring up fantasy scenarios of how this could be the turning point in their relationship, imagining increasingly more romantic situations that they could find themselves in over the five day holiday that his studies began to suffer. Which wasn’t exactly ideal considering the amount of revising he needed to be doing for the end of term exams that were approaching as quickly as the wedding itself. 

Somehow, he managed to get himself together enough to pull off respectable marks in all of his courses, and before he knew it his first semester of Uni was in the books and he was packing for Switzerland. 

* 

Finally, the day arrives where Harry and Louis are scheduled to take the train from London to Adalheid. Gemma, Harry’s mum, Anne, and Harry’s stepfather, Robin, had already left on Monday, the day after Christmas, to work on last minute wedding preparations and ready their chalet for guests. 

It’s now Thursday, two days before the wedding, and Harry is meeting Louis outside St. Pancras International in a little less than an hour to catch the 7:14 train. Harry normally loathes waking up at such an ungodly hour (he amusedly wonders how Louis is fairing, because he is even less of a morning person than Harry) but his excitement for the day ahead had him springing out of bed when his alarm went off at half five without complaint. 

He stops at a familiar bakery a few blocks from the station and purchases a couple chocolate croissants and black tea for Louis, and a chai latte and an almond pastry for himself. His heart stops when he arrives a few minutes prior to their agreed upon meeting time, only to find Louis already waiting for him. He’s hunched over on a bench, elbows propped on his knees as he scrolls mindlessly through his mobile with one hand, and balls the other into a fist to rub at his sleepy eyes. Warmth and affection flood Harry’s body as he stands frozen on the paving stones, completely transfixed by the sight of the beautiful boy waiting for him. 

Louis is wearing a thick, maroon jumper – sleeves covering his hands so only the tips of his fingers poke out – with a pair of black joggers, and his ordinarily tousled, soft brown fringe is swept up under a grey, knit beanie. He looks so cozy and sweet, using a tiny, jumper-clad fist to stifle a yawn, and Harry feels his heart swell in his chest with how much he loves him. His fingers twitch where they are clutching the bakery bag, his entire body itching with the overwhelming urge to reach out and touch, to close the distance between the two of them and wrap Louis up in his arms and never let go. He sighs – having now spent an embarrassing amount of time creeping on his best friend without his knowledge – hefts his bag higher up on his shoulder and re-adjusts the drink carrier and paper bag in his hands so he can push through the heavy glass doors separating them. 

Louis looks up when Harry is still a few metres away, a devastatingly gorgeous smile tugging at the corners of his perfect lips. Harry nearly trips over his own two feet, which, granted, isn’t an uncommon occurrence, but it’s embarrassing all the same. His cheeks heat with a blush, but Louis’ smile only widens, fondness saturating his features. Harry really should be used to Louis’ beauty by now, after spending the last several months in such close proximity to him day after day, but it still feels like his heart is attempting to do some form of gymnastics in his chest every time he sees him, and he wonders if he will ever get used to it or if it’s just something he will have to live with. Probably the latter, he decides. 

“Hey, Haz!” Louis greets as Harry approaches. 

His features are still sleep-softened, a pillow crease present on one of his cheeks, but his eyes are bright, swimming with excitement and anticipation for the days ahead. 

“Hi, Lou. I brought you breakfast. Chocolate croissants from _La Patisserie_ , your favourite.” Harry smiles shyly, offering the bag of baked goods to Louis. 

“You are an absolute angel, Harry Styles. Too good for this world.” Louis says as he eagerly opens the bag and pushes his nose inside to inhale deeply. 

Harry preens under Louis’ praise, scuffing his boots on the tile and collapsing next to him on the bench. “I brought you tea too.” 

“Seriously, what have I done to deserve you?” Louis wonders aloud, his words slightly muffled by the huge bite of croissant he just shoved in his mouth. 

He smiles at Harry as he chews, and Harry just. He has to look away, because he knows how expressive his face is, and sometimes there’s just no hiding how much he loves Louis. 

Louis elbows him gently in the ribs as he takes another bite. “Thanks for this, babe, really. You didn’t have to. You’re already whisking me away to Switzerland. Honestly, I should be the one bringing you sweets.” 

“Wanted to.” Harry says simply, shrugging. 

A moment passes where they just look at each other with twin expressions of affection, and then Louis is wordlessly handing Harry his almond pastry and they eat their respective breakfasts in companionable silence, their thighs pressed snugly together on the bench. After polishing off the last of the chocolate croissants and downing the remains of his tea, Louis dutifully collects their rubbish and deposits it in the bin to his right. Standing from the bench, he offers Harry his hand with a grin. 

“Shall we?” 

Harry accepts his hand, lacing their fingers together easily. “We shall.” He agrees, joining Louis on his feet. 

Their hands remain entwined as they make their way through the station. As someone who has made this journey countless times over the years, Harry leads Louis to the correct platform with practiced ease. When they get close, Louis slips Harry’s bag off his shoulder and hoists it onto his own, allowing Harry to dig into his back pocket to retrieve his wallet with their tickets inside. Harry struggles a little, trying to extract his wallet whilst still juggling his latte. 

“You know, Harold, this wouldn’t be so difficult if those things weren’t practically painted on your arse.” Louis ribs, punctuating his teasing with a cheeky pinch to Harry’s outer thigh. 

Even though he wants nothing more than to feel Louis’ hands on him from now to eternity, he can’t help his reaction to the ticklish nature of the touch, and squeaks as he curves his body away. “You’re one to talk, Lou. I’ve seen what you wear when we go out to the pub at the weekend.” 

“That’s hardly my fault though. I can’t be blamed for the fact that the fashion industry has yet to make proper trousers for those of us blokes who are a little more blessed in the arse department.” 

Harry snorts. “I think _little_ may be a bit of an understatement.” He teases playfully. 

“Oi! Stop objectifying me arse, you cheeky little minx.” Louis squawks, swatting at Harry’s arm. 

“Sorry, Lou.” Harry grins, knowing he looks anything but apologetic. 

Louis just shakes his head fondly, knocking their hips together to urge Harry to hurry up. “C’mon, love. I remember how me mum was before her wedding, and I’m betting Gemma will have a coronary if we miss our train.” 

They board with no problems, stowing their bags away and settling down into their compartment for the long ride ahead. The trip from London to Adalheid is roughly eleven hours, putting their arrival time at just before supper tonight, and Harry couldn’t be more thrilled to spend each and every one of those hours snuggled up next to Louis. 

They spend the first few hours of the journey chatting, Louis entertaining Harry by making a game out of coming up with elaborate back stories for their fellow passengers. By the time early afternoon comes around and their stomachs are growling with hunger, Louis has invented a complex conspiracy theory for everyone on the train involving MI6 and the Russian mafia, and Harry is laughing so hard his stomach aches and he has tears running down his face. 

After inhaling a lunch of sandwiches and crisps, that Louis insists on paying for despite Harry’s protests, they snuggle up next to each other, sharing a pair of ear buds plugged in to Harry’s phone. They are lulled to sleep by the soothing vibration of the train beneath them, the soft crooning of Ed Sheeran’s voice in their ears, and each other’s warmth. 

When he wakes up from their kip several hours later to Louis’ head on his shoulder, his arm slung across Harry’s torso, and his tiny fist curled in the front of Harry’s jumper, Harry thinks he has never felt happier in his life than he does in that moment. He’s wrong though, because a few minutes later, Louis nuzzles sleepily into his neck and smacks his lips adorably, his arm tightening around Harry’s waist as he snuggles closer. He wakes up not long after, offering Harry a shy smile and a quiet, “Hi, love.” And, yes, Harry has without a doubt never felt happier. He’s going to have to give his heart a stern talking to if he has any hope of surviving the next couple days with Louis. 

Robin is waiting for them when they get off the train, the Audi SUV that Harry’s family had made the journey in earlier this week parked across the street. 

“Hey, lads. How was the trip?” Robin greets pleasantly, reaching out to shake Louis’ hand. 

Louis has met Harry’s family only once before when they came up to London to visit Harry around mid term and insisted on taking his friends out to lunch to meet them properly, but he made quite the impression and won them all over instantly, just as he had done with Harry. 

“It was good, yeah.” Louis nods, returning Robin’s handshake with a genuine smile. 

“Happy to hear it. I hope you boys are hungry, your mum and sister worked up quite the appetite today. When I left, it sounded like they were ordering enough take away to feed a small army. We’ve just got to pop in and pick it up on the way back.” Robin chuckles. 

“How’s Gems doing?” Harry asks. 

“Oh, you know your sister. She’s had her moments, but for the most part she’s taken everything in stride. Mostly, I think she’s just anxious for Thayer and his family to arrive tomorrow.” 

Harry nods knowingly, his sister had understandably been a little stressed about her fiancé and his family not arriving until the day of the rehearsal. Thayer had been born in England, but his family moved to Iceland for his father’s job when he was in primary, and that’s where he and Gemma had met when she was studying abroad at Uni. He had gone home to spend some time with his family before the wedding so they could all fly in together, which Gemma had been more than okay with, it was just the timing of them arriving only hours before the rehearsal that had stressed her out. 

“Well, we best get going then. You know how mum and Gems get when they’re hungry.” Harry laughs. 

Robin shoots him the grave look of a man who has seen enough of the Styles-Twist women when they are experiencing low blood sugar to know just what Harry is talking about and be appropriately wary. “Right you are.” 

They pile into the car, Harry climbing into the back seat to sit with Louis, and head off to pick up dinner. When they walk in the door of Harry’s family’s holiday home roughly half an hour later, Gemma jumps to her feet from her perch on the sofa and practically rips the takeaway bags from Harry’s hands. 

“Oh thank fuck.” She mutters, already beginning to rifle through the bags on her way into the kitchen. 

“Lovely to see you too, Gems.” Harry snorts sarcastically, planting a kiss on her temple. 

“Sorry, baby bro.” She simpers, ruffling his hair affectionately. “It’s been quite a day.” 

“Yes, well stress eating has always been your number one coping technique.” Harry teases good-naturedly. 

“Ooh, listen to this cheek.” She rolls her eyes exaggeratedly. “You’ve been away for one term, and Uni has already turned you into a proper little shit. I approve.” 

They share a laugh as Gemma pulls him into a hug. “Seriously, though, how are you doing? Can I do anything to help?” Harry asks. 

“I think mum and I have everything covered. I’m just happy you’re here now, one less curly-headed trouble maker I have to worry about keeping tabs on.” Gemma jokes, referring to her fiancé who, like Harry, has a head of wild curls, though Thayer’s are much longer than Harry’s, nearly reaching his shoulders. “Speaking of troublemakers…where’s Lou?” 

Harry feels his chest warm when his sister uses the nickname in reference to his best friend. Despite only having met in person the one time, her and Louis’ relationship really is something else. Harry can’t count how many times his phone has been high-jacked by Louis during his and Gemma’s weekly facetime sessions so the two of them can discuss their current Netflix obsession or bond over their mutual love of ribbing Harry by regaling each other with his greatest hits of embarrassing moments. They adore each other and tease each other in equal measure, and Harry couldn’t be more pleased with how well the two of them get on. 

Just then, Louis ducks in the doorway of the kitchen, Robin trailing behind him, the two of them carrying the rest of the takeaway. “Oi! Who are you calling trouble maker?” He squawks in faux indignation, crossing the kitchen to wrap Gemma up in a hug. “Alright, love?” He asks, pulling back to hold her at arms length. 

“Better now that you wankers are finally here.” She nods, cuffing him on the shoulder. 

“Wouldn’t miss it. Thanks so much for inviting me.” Louis replies sincerely. 

She waves him off dismissively. “Please. You know you’re my favorite of Harry’s friends. I’m glad he asked you to be his date.” 

Harry’s cheeks immediately heat, he can practically feel the tips of his ears reddening as a flush creeps over his entire face. He shoots Gemma a murderous look over Louis’ shoulder, but she just smirks at him. 

“I am too.” Louis says, craning his neck to smile back at Harry. “And I promise not to rub it in to the other lads too much about me being your favorite. Niall would be proper heartbroken.” He chuckles fondly. 

Gemma snorts amusedly at that, releasing her grip on his arms with a final affectionate squeeze. “Well enough small talk. We can catch up properly after we eat, I’m starving.” She announces, taking the rest of the bags from Louis’ hands. 

“Where’s mum?” Harry asks, directing the question at his sister as she begins to unpack the takeaway on their large wooden dining table. 

“She went to have a shower just before you lot got here, should be ‘round soon.” Gemma answers, waving her hand vaguely as she begins to tuck in to the food. 

“Shouldn’t we wait for her?” Harry chastises gently. 

“I’m the bride, and I’m hungry. I think mum will understand.” Gemma retorts around a mouthful. 

“How much are you going to milk that over the next few days?” Harry ribs, his mouth twisting in a crooked smirk. 

“Little sass master you are, Haz.” Gemma giggles, turning her attention to Louis. “That your doing, then?” 

He throws his hands up defensively, shrugging his shoulders. “Could be.” 

Gemma winks at him and turns back to her food. 

A few minutes later, Anne enters the kitchen clad in loungewear and a fluffy dressing gown, her dark hair still damp from the shower. 

“Oh, my boys are here!” She exclaims happily. “Louis, love, how are you? It’s so wonderful to see you again.” 

Anne embraces him warmly, giving him a kiss on the cheek for good measure while Harry watches the scene with a soft expression and warmth pooling in his belly. 

“I’m good, yeah. Thanks so much for having me, your home is beautiful.” 

“Thank you, darling. We are thrilled to have you. Has Harry shown you around yet?” 

“Didn’t really get a chance.” Harry interjects. “This one,” He nods over at Gemma who is happily stuffing her face “attacked us as soon as we walked through the door with the food.” 

Anne laughs, leaning down to kiss the top of Harry’s head. He stands from his chair to give his mum a proper hug, tucking his face into the side of her neck and inhaling the comforting, familiar scent of her shampoo. It’s only been a few days since he’s seen her, but any time apart from his mum is enough for him to miss her. They’ve always had a very close relationship. Despite loving being away at Uni, it was one of the things Harry had struggled with in the first couple weeks, missing her, and it only made him that much more thankful when he met Louis and the rest of the boys. 

“How’s my baby?” Anne whispers only loud enough for Harry to hear. 

“Perfect, mum. Everything’s perfect now.” 

Anne glances subtly over at Louis then back at Harry with a knowing smile. She pats his cheek and kisses his temple once before releasing him, and they both settle down with the others to eat. 

* 

After dinner, Harry gives Louis a tour of the place, Louis’ features permanently fixed in an expression of awe as he takes in every room of the cozy chalet (Harry thinks Louis’ eyes might actually bug out of his head when he mentions the hot tub they have on the back deck). There are three spacious bedrooms on the lower level, and a large loft that has come to be known as “the bunkhouse” over the years. There are two sets of bunk beds on each side of the room tucked into the alcoves where the ceiling slopes down, and a makeshift sitting area in the middle with two overstuffed sofas and a large flat-screen television. 

Anne and Robin, and Gemma, respectively, are sleeping in two of the rooms downstairs. Harry graciously offered Louis the third bedroom, but Louis insisted he would much rather sleep up in the loft with Harry. There was no way Harry was going to argue with that. 

“Top or bottom?” Harry asks, making a sweeping motion with his arm to indicate the bunk beds stationed around the room. 

“I don’t know, Styles. A bit personal that question, innit?” Louis raises one softly curved eyebrow challengingly, the corners of his lips turning up in a mirthful smirk. 

Harry snorts, a loud honk of a laugh escaping his mouth before he can stifle it. Louis circles the room, making a show of inspecting the bunk beds, fluffing the pillows and sitting on the mattress of one of the lower bunks to wiggle his bum around like he’s testing the firmness of it. He strokes his chin thoughtfully and cranes his neck to study the top bunks, resting one of his hands on the rungs of the ladder. Harry tries not to be too endeared by his antics. He fails miserably _. God, he’s so fucking easy for Louis_. He could honestly watch him all day and never grow bored of it. 

Louis clears his throat as if he’s about to make an important announcement, snapping Harry out of his reverie. 

“Top, I should think.” His concludes with a decisive nod of his head. 

“Wait, are we talking about the bunk beds…or the _other_ thing?” Harry questions cheekily, unable to resist the innuendo. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Styles?” Louis winks as he begins to climb up onto one of the top bunks on the left side of the room. 

Harry bites his tongue against the words that are trying to claw their way up his throat. _Yes, I would very much like to know. In fact, I would like you to show me._ He suddenly feels very hot, his imagination running a bit wild with the various scenarios he is now picturing himself and Louis in. Before he can take his fantasies too far, he distracts himself with toeing off his boots and arranging his bag on the bunk below the one Louis had chosen. 

Now that they’ve completed the tour and dropped their bags off up in the loft, they climb down the spiral staircase and join the others in the lounge where Robin is tending to the fire and Anne and Gemma are snuggled together on one of the sofas, a film playing at a low volume on the telly in the background. 

As he settles next to Louis on the other sofa, pulling a blanket across their laps, Harry’s heart has that swollen feeling again, like it’s grown too large for his ribs to contain.    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Until next time, loves :)


	2. Dancing in the dark with you between my arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gemma and Thayer get married. Harry and Louis have a moment whilst slow dancing at the reception.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, lovelies! 
> 
> First off, I would like to say thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read, comment, leave kudos, or subscribe to/bookmark this story so far. This chapter is quite a bit longer than the first (three times as long to be exact) and I’m posting it earlier than I originally planned because the next few weeks of my life are going to be a little hectic. Some of my personal favorite moments from this story take place during this chapter, so I’m quite excited to post it.
> 
> It will most likely be a couple weeks before the next update, but I will get it posted as soon as I possibly can. This story will be six chapters in total. Thank you to anyone willing to stick around through it all. I really hope you enjoy! Xx.
> 
> Songs for this chapter:  
> Skinny Love-Bon Iver  
> Kingdom Come-Coldplay  
> I Would Do Anything For You-Foster The People  
> Maneater-Hall and Oates  
> Dangerous-Wyclef Jean Ft. The Ying Yang Twins  
> Calle Ocho-Pitbull  
> Mambo Number 5-Lou Bega  
> My Humps-The Black Eyed Peas  
> Wannabe-The Spice Girls  
> Baby One More Time-Britney Spears  
> Toxic-Britney Spears  
> Kiss Me-Ed Sheeran
> 
> (I realise this looks like the most random assortment of songs ever, but it will make more sense when you’re reading.)

The day before the wedding passes by in a blur. Much to everyone’s relief, Thayer and his family arrive without incident just as he had promised Gemma. After the two of them finalise some last minute details with the officiant who will be marrying them and Gemma’s friend, Nicola, who is an event planner in London and kindly offered to coordinate the wedding, the entire wedding party is treated to a fancy meal at the ski resort where the reception is to be held the following evening. 

The venue is located in the valley a short way down the mountain from Harry’s family’s chalet and will host the majority of the wedding guests for the weekend, including Thayer and his family. The building is over a hundred years old; a gorgeous Victorian era chateau that’s been converted into a hotel which boasts breath-taking views and a restaurant renowned for being one of the best in Switzerland. 

The food is, indeed, delicious. They start off with tartiflette, a traditional dish consisting of thinly sliced potatoes, Reblochon cheese, and caremelised onions topped with smoked bacon. Over the years, Harry has learned to pace himself when it comes to meals whilst on holiday – the traditional Swiss fare being much heavier and richer than what he’s used to eating back home England. He tries to pass this wisdom on to Louis, not wanting him to overindulge and end up with a stomachache as Harry has done multiple times in the past when his family first purchased their holiday home, but Louis, never having been much for self-discipline, doesn’t really heed Harry’s warning. Some lessons you just have to learn yourself, Harry supposes. The main course is a little lighter – polenta with beef braised in red wine – but still savory. Harry smirks around the rim of his wine glass; taking a sip then wiping his mouth and stifling giggles with the back of his hand at the near orgasmic sounds Louis is trying, _rather unsuccessfully_ , to suppress upon trying everything for the first time. 

Gemma is positively glowing as she and Thayer make the rounds to greet each other’s families when dinner finishes – a glass of white wine clutched in her left hand and Thayer’s arm wrapped securely around her waist. Harry couldn’t be more content – pleasantly full and sat at a table with his mum, Robin, and his Nan, with Louis tucked next to him, his arm slung across the back of Harry’s chair and his body inclined towards him – as he watches his sister and the love of her life. Not surprisingly, everyone loves Louis, especially Harry’s Nan, and it all makes for a very pleasant evening. 

After a few solid hours of eating, drinking, and conversing, everyone is more than ready to turn in for the night, knowing that the big day is only hours away. They all part with warm hugs and happy smiles, Gemma and Thayer lingering longer than the rest to share a private moment on their last night before becoming husband and wife. Then the Styles-Twist clan, along with Louis, is piling into the car to make the trip back up the mountain. 

* 

Harry wakes in the middle of the night to the feeling of gentle, but insistent, hands on his shoulders, and lips at his ear. As he slowly comes to full consciousness, he realises his entire body is trembling and his cheeks are damp. 

“Hey, love.” A soft, comforting voice whispers. “Hazza, babe, it’s alright. You’re alright. I’m here.” 

“Lou?” Harry croaks groggily, his voice ragged. 

“Shh, babe. I’ve got you. I think you were having a nightmare. You were thrashing about and talking in your sleep. Do you want to tell me about it, love?” 

Harry wracks his brain, but can’t recall the details; a cold, lingering sense of fear and general unease gripping him is the only clue he’s left with. 

“I-I can’t remember anything. Just the feeling it gave me.” Harry wipes hastily at his cheeks, trying not to be too humiliated when he finds them wet with fresh tears. 

Louis bats his hand away, leveling him with a stern look like he should know better than to be embarrassed about showing emotion in front of him. Harry really should know better. Louis has never been anything but lovely when it comes to dealing with emotional displays – so kind and patient and full of compassion. “Want me to stay with you?” He whispers softly, pressing his lips into Harry’s hair and stroking up and down his arm soothingly. 

“Please.” Harry nods weakly. 

“Of course, love.” Louis opens his arms in invitation. “Bring it in, babe. Come give us a proper cuddle.” 

Harry folds himself into Louis’ arms without question, a shiver running through his body as he tries to shake off the dregs of his nightmare. Louis only holds him tighter and traces his fingers lightly down Harry’s back, following the curve of his spine. 

“Better?” He inquires sweetly, his tone laced with concern. 

Harry nods, his lips brushing over Louis’ throat from where he’s tucked under his chin. Louis’ heartbeat is an anchor, a calming force, and Harry latches on to the sound with all he has, reveling in its closeness and comforting effect. He can feel the steady rise and fall of Louis’ chest against him and concentrates on trying to match the pattern of his breathing until his own heart settles back into its normal rhythm. 

“Thank you.” He murmurs lowly, his voice still a bit rough. 

Louis nuzzles into Harry’s curls, tucking him more securely under his chin. “Of course, babe. Sleep now. Big day tomorrow, yeah?” 

Harry nods again, living for the way Louis’ impossibly soft skin feels as it brushes gently against his lips. 

“I’ll be here.” Louis assures him, his right arm tightening around Harry’s waist and his left reaching up so he can twine his fingers in the curls at the nape of Harry’s neck. 

Lying in Louis’ arms with those words resounding in his head like a promise, Harry falls asleep feeling comfortably warm and completely safe, his nightmare long forgotten. 

* 

Harry’s not alone when he wakes the next morning, and it takes him longer than he’d care to admit to figure out why. When he feels the warmth of another body beneath him, hears the slow, steady percussion of a heartbeat next to his ear, and smells a very familiar scent, he thinks he might be dreaming. 

It’s that thought that brings the events of the previous night back into focus and allows him to realise that the soft, sleepy snuffles he can barely make out, the strong arms holding him, and the leg carelessly slung over one of his own all belong to Louis. 

Louis who had climbed in to bed with him after Harry had had a nightmare. Louis who had stayed with him and held him while he slept. Sweet, considerate, wonderful Louis who smells like absolute heaven and looks like an angel with his perfectly bowed, distractingly pink lips, and his hair strewn about in casual disarray on the pillow beneath his head like a makeshift halo. 

Harry cranes his neck to try and catch a glimpse of the digital clock on the DVD player across the room without disturbing the beautiful boy in his bed. He relaxes a little when he sees it’s still fairly early, and settles his head back down on Louis’ chest. He would honestly be content to lay here in Louis’ arms, basking in the warmth from the morning sun streaming in through the skylights above, and just let the hours slip away. In fact, there isn’t much he can imagine that would please him more, but today’s the day of the wedding and he knows they’ll need to get up eventually. 

For now, they have a little time and Harry loses himself imagining what it would be like if this was a regular occurrence in his life, if Louis’ sleep-slackened face and messy hair and heavy limbs were all part of the view he woke up to every morning. What would it be like to trace his fingers through the smattering of hair between Louis’ pecs and feel his heartbeat flutter beneath his fingertips? What would it be like to brush his lips all over Louis’ beautiful face and kiss him awake? What would it be like to watch Louis’ lashes quiver only to be met with the _blue blue blue_ of his eyes as he blinked himself lazily into full consciousness? What would it be like to feel Louis’ warm breath on his neck and hear his sleep-raspy voice whisper _morning, love_ against his skin? 

Harry sighs longingly and decides to cut off that train of thought before his hopeless pining can get any more pitiful than it already is. He wills himself to be grateful for what he has, because what he has is a solid friendship with the most wonderful person, and as much as he may want more he has to be willing to accept that the only way they could ever take their relationship to the next level would be if Harry were to man up and confess his feelings. It’s too great a risk to take at this moment in time. They have only known each other for roughly four months, and while that has been ample time for Harry to fall irrevocably in love with Louis, it is nowhere near enough time to have had Louis in his life if he is going to risk losing their friendship. Harry wants to keep Louis as long as he’s allowed. _Forever_ , if possible. He needs more time before he’s willing to put his heart on the line, but he vows to himself that he will one day tell Louis how he truly feels. That day just isn’t going to be today. 

Today is Gemma’s day and he will focus on that. There will be plenty of wedding related things to distract him, and until then he will lie here with Louis and try to resist the urge to pull out his phone and take pictures to forever immortalise the way they are currently wrapped up in each other. He’ll try not to listen to the insistent voice in his head that’s screaming out between heartbeats _look how well we fit_. 

 _Right_ , he can do this. 

Louis wakes a short while later, his arms flexing around Harry’s shoulders and pulling him tighter to his chest. Harry tries his very best to ignore the fact that Louis’ first instinct upon waking up in bed with him is to pull him closer. He also tries to ignore the fact that the first words that come out of Louis’ mouth are the exact ones he had been fantasising about hearing. 

“Morning, love.” He rasps, causing Harry’s heart to race with how undeniably sexy his husky morning voice is. 

“Morning, Lou.” Harry manages to reply, his own voice rough and gravelly. 

Louis smiles at him lazily and presses a chaste kiss to the crown of his head, his breath tickling Harry’s curls. “Did you sleep alright then?” 

“Yeah, erm, I mean after you woke me up obviously.” Harry stutters out awkwardly, not wanting to admit that it was the best night’s sleep he’s ever had, the reason for that being that he had felt safe and secure in Louis’ arms. 

“Remember anything about your dream?” Louis wonders aloud, absently running a finger down Harry’s spine. 

Harry shakes his head, feeling his curls brush over Louis’ chest with the movement. “No, but it’s fairly typical for me. I get these, like, anxiety dreams a lot of times before something big is about to happen. ‘M probably just a bit nervous for the wedding. Like making a speech and walking Gemma down the aisle and all. I just want everything to be perfect for her.” 

Harry can feel Louis’ smile as his hand moves to pet soothingly at his curls. “Haz, you’ve got nothing to worry about. You are such a good brother, babe. Gems is so lucky to have you. You’re going to smash that speech and I know how much it must mean to her to have you be the one to escort her down the aisle. Plus, I’ll be with you the whole time. I’ll let you sob all over me during the ceremony and then we’ll get pissed on posh champagne, stuff ourselves with cake, and dance around like idiots at the night do. Today’s going to be brilliant, I promise.” 

Harry lets out a sigh, relief flooding his body as he absorbs Louis’ words. “Thanks, Lou. You always know just how to make me feel better.” 

“It’s a tough job, Curly, but someone’s gotta do it. C’mon, let’s head down and I’ll make you tea.” 

* 

Harry sits at the dining table and nibbles on a muffin as he watches Louis putter around the kitchen, collecting the fixings for their morning tea. Harry offered to show Louis where everything was, but Louis had dismissed him with a wave of his hand, insisting he could manage just fine on his own and pushing Harry down into one of the chairs with gentle hands. 

He can’t say that he’s sorry now as he watches Louis, cursing and banging about and generally make a mess of things as he raids the cupboards and squeals triumphantly as he finds what he needs, holding the items aloft like trophies. He’s a ball of sunshine, a jar of barely contained chaos, and Harry is a butterfly caught in his hurricane. 

“Harry Edward,” Anne prompts, coming into the kitchen and stopping behind his chair. He tilts his head back to look up at her. “Do not be late.” She says, arching a brow in faux sternness. Her lips betray her, though, as they curl into a fond smile. 

She and Gemma are meant to join Thayer’s mum and sister and some of Gemma’s friends in the ski resort’s spa to have their nails done, then head up to one of the suites to get ready. 

“Yes, mum.” Harry singsongs. 

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Twist.” Louis chirps as he approaches them balancing two cups of tea in his hands, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration. “I’ll keep him on task.” 

Anne’s eyes flicker over to Harry’s, the two of them sharing a look whilst Louis is distracted with setting the cups down and going back to grab the milk and sugar off the worktop. “Thank you, darling, and please, call me Anne.” She insists, smiling at Louis warmly and placing a motherly hand on his shoulder as he slides into the seat next to Harry. 

“Would you like me to fix you a cup too?” He asks politely, gesturing towards the kettle, then reaches out to poke Harry in the ribs. “ _This one_ ,” he punctuates with a jab, “probably doesn’t even know how to make a decent cup anymore. Always has me do it for him.” 

A delicate peal of laughter curls from Anne’s lips. “I’m fine, dear, thank you. We’ll be having breakfast at the hotel.” 

Harry pushes at Louis’ fingers to try and knock them away from where they’re still digging into his side, sensing his mum’s gaze on him as the two of them parry for the upper hand. “That’s because yours always turns out better, Lou.” 

“Yes, young Harold, my tea-making skills are vastly superior. Not sure how you managed for eighteen years before you knew me, if I’m honest.” 

Harry sighs dramatically with a fond roll of his eyes. “Neither do I, Lou.” He replies lowly, hiding his face behind his teacup as he takes a sip to avoid revealing just how true that statement is. 

* 

The time slips through Harry’s fingers, as it often does when he finds himself in Louis’ presence, and before he knows it it’s early afternoon and they need to start getting ready. 

It’s just the two of them in the chalet. The girls will remain at the hotel until just before the wedding, and Robin had joined them not too long ago to check on the arrangements they had made to use the hotel’s shuttle service to transport the guests to the ceremony site. 

Louis crouches on the floor of the loft and pulls a pair of black trousers and a wilted white button down – presumably his wedding attire – out of his bag. He frowns, brows pinching and nose wrinkling up adorably, as he takes in their disastrously creased state. 

Harry can’t help but laugh at his disgruntled expression as he unzips a garment bag to reveal his own pristine black suit. “Don’t worry, Lou. I’ll press them for you. Why don’t you have a shower, and they’ll be good to go by the time you’re finished.” 

Louis huffs out a sigh and gets to his feet, throwing one more disapproving look at the rumpled pile of clothing on the floor next to his bag. “Are you sure?” 

“ ‘Course,” Harry agrees easily. “You know I don’t mind.” 

Louis stoops to pick up his wrinkled shirt and trousers, depositing them in Harry’s open hands as he snakes past to grab his towel off one of the hooks on the wall. “Thanks, babe.” He says with a squeeze to Harry’s forearm as he saunters off towards the staircase. “You’re the best.” 

* 

Harry meanders down to the main level to retrieve the iron and board from the linen cupboard and cart them back up the stairs so he can get to work on pressing Louis’ clothes. He’s just finished with the shirt and has moved on to the trousers when Louis returns to the loft, freshly showered and smelling positively divine. 

He looks like every single one of Harry’s fantasies come to life with a towel slung low on his hips, his skin scrubbed clean and glowing. A couple stray water droplets bead off the tips of his wet hair and make their way down his bare torso. Harry bites his lip against a whine as he tracks their progress, the water catching the sunlight and causing Louis’ golden skin to glisten. He closes his eyes and concentrates on taking deep breaths to try and tamp down on the surge of arousal that is simmering low in his belly. 

When he re-opens them, Louis has shimmied a pair of black briefs up his legs and is now dabbing at his hair with the towel that was previously wrapped around his waist. It’s honestly not much better than before, with the way the material clings to his arse and how his abs and biceps flex as he towel dries his hair and fluffs his fringe. 

Harry’s only wearing a thin white vest and briefs himself, and the reality of how little clothing stands between them – even with Louis halfway across the room – has his head spinning. He almost burns a hole through Louis’ trousers when, distracted by his racing thoughts and pounding heart, he holds the iron in one place for too long. He yanks his hand away with a jolt, the iron hissing out steam that isn’t doing anything to help clear his foggy, lust-addled brain.

“So domestic, Haz.” Louis teases as he approaches, affectionately ruffling Harry’s curls. “What a good little spouse you’d make.” 

Harry feels warmth spread throughout his body like ice thawing at the first signs of spring. He just really likes the word spouse, and he likes it even better when it’s directed at him and coming from Louis’ lips. In fact, he’d quite like to hear it for the rest of his life, if that’s not too much to ask. 

He quickly finishes with Louis’ trousers, his dress shirt already laid out on one of the lower bunks for him, and hands them off to Louis. His cheeks still feel flushed from Louis’ words and the accompanying picture they had conjured up in Harry’s mind of another wedding, years from now where they two of them would play much different roles. He mentally swats the image away with a wistful sigh. As far as fantasies go, it’s an innocent one, but as lovely as it is, now’s not the time for daydreaming. 

He focuses his attention on getting dressed in order to distract himself. Although, his simple, black two piece suit doesn’t offer much in the way of distraction – it’s easy enough to shimmy into the slim cut trousers, button the crisp white shirt, slip the black satin tie over his head and tighten the knot, and shrug on the tailored jacket. His hair is already dry and styled, having showered after breakfast, so the only thing left for him to do is pull on his black leather boots. Of course they’ll have to bundle up a bit with coats and gloves since the ceremony will be outside, but that won’t happen until just before they have to leave. 

He turns around, fidgeting a bit nervously with his fingers, and suddenly that’s the least of his worries because all the breath has just left his lungs and his heart is somewhere near his feet. 

There’s a supermodel standing in the middle of the room fussing with the cuffs of his white dress shirt. He might even be an angel, Harry’s not sure. One thing he is sure of is that Louis looks—he looks unreal. He’s absolutely stunning in black trousers that hug the curves of his legs perfectly (the same trousers that Harry had pressed for him mere minutes ago) and a shirt that fits so well it looks like it was custom made for him. It’s buttoned to his throat and snug across his chest so it accentuates the musculature there, the crisp, clean white contrasting beautifully with the honeyed tint of Louis’ skin, and _oh god_ he’s—he’s wearing braces. Harry might not survive the day. 

A sound escapes his throat that makes him want to crawl into a hole and hide for the foreseeable future. He tries to cover it with a cough, which only serves to draw more attention to him. There’s a smile on Louis’ face when he looks up at him, but his expression quickly pales, the words Harry saw forming on his lips shrivel up and die there as his jaw drops a little bit. He hears the ragged breath that stutters past Louis’ lips and his own heart falters in his chest, subconsciously mirroring the action. 

Louis’ eyes linger on him, skating over his body, and Harry shivers, feeling naked under the scrutiny and how similar it feels to a caress. Louis’ gaze starts at Harry’s toes, travels all the way up to his face, and when their eyes meet, Louis holds him there. Something passes between them, and Harry wonders, not for the first time, if Louis feels it too. If he feels that same pull, that crackle of electricity that penetrates the air around them and makes the hairs on Harry’s arms and the nape of his neck stand on end. 

Louis swallows thickly, his throat bobbing visibly, and takes a hesitant step closer to Harry. “Wow, babe. You look incredible. Forget the bridesmaids, Gemma should be worrying about being upstaged by you.” He lets out a low whistle and raises his eyebrows in a way that makes Harry giggle. 

There’s a blush staining his cheeks, he’s sure of it, but Louis’ light-hearted humor tempers the air so the atmosphere isn’t so charged in the wake of his compliment, and Harry’s grateful for it. He’s never really been very good at handling what he sees as undeniable chemistry between them, and he definitely wouldn’t do well with handling it right now – his nerves are already raw as it is. 

“Gems doesn’t have any bridesmaids, Lou. No groomsmen either. It’s just going to be her and Thayer up there.” Harry reasons with a chuckle, hoping his deflection isn’t too obvious. 

“That’s probably for the best. If you were standing up there, everyone would be looking at you.” 

 _The only person I want to look at me is you_ , Harry responds in his head. 

Thankfully, he manages to restrain himself from voicing that thought out loud. Sometimes it’s just so easy with Louis to get caught up in the sweetness of his words or the tenderness of his touch, and forget that none of it is real – at least not in the way Harry dreams about. It _is_ real in the sense that he has never doubted Louis’ sincerity for a moment – he’s not one of those people who just throws compliments around carelessly – but it’s not real in the way Harry wants it to be real. Louis is generous with his affection and authentic with his words, but they don’t mean to him what they mean to Harry. He can’t know that they slice through Harry’s skin and leave him weak-kneed and bleeding on the floor, feeling vulnerable with how much he longs for them to be true. It’s everything he wants to hear, but the context is all wrong. He’s not Louis’ lover, he’s his best friend, and sometimes it takes a while for Harry to convince himself that that’s enough when his heart craves so much more. 

“I could say the same about you.” Harry confesses shyly, pushing at the carpet with the toe of his boot to distract himself from everything he wishes he could see in Louis’ eyes. Everything he’s trying to hide in his own. “You look—you look amazing, Lou.” 

“Thanks, Curly.” 

* 

Thirty minutes later, Harry and Louis are in the foyer bundling up in preparation to make the trek to the ceremony site. Louis pulls on his ski jacket and frowns as he looks down at himself, the casual nature of his outerwear at odds with his smart trousers and crisp dress shirt. 

“I’ve an idea.” Harry announces with a raised index finger and a click of his tongue, turning to rummage through the coat cupboard. He pulls out one of his old pea coats, it’s nicely tailored and the thick grey wool should be more than enough to keep Louis warm. “Here.” He offers it to Louis with a shy, hopeful grin; the prospect of seeing Louis in something of his sending a little thrill through his veins. 

Louis shrugs off his bulky ski jacket and fits his shoulders into the proffered coat. “Thanks, babe.” He says gratefully as he adjusts the lapels and smoothes down the front. “How does it look?” 

“Very posh.” Harry giggles, adopting an exaggerated accent.

“Fit right in then, won’t I?” Louis smirks, nudging Harry in the side with his elbow. 

Harry ignores his quip with an amused shake of his head. By now he’s plenty accustomed to Louis’ teasing over his family’s affluence, and he knows there’s no bite to it. 

He pulls on a pair of black leather gloves and shrugs into his own outerwear – a deep forest green trench style coat made from soft suede material. It isn’t perhaps the most traditional choice, but the wedding colors are cream, sage, and burgandy, and Harry knows his mum’s dress is a similar shade of green. Since his suit isn’t anything flashy, he figures Gemma wouldn’t be opposed to him being a little more daring with his choice of outerwear. 

Once they’re both sufficiently dressed for the chillier climate, they head out and begin to make their way through the trees that border the perimeter of the chalet and extend for miles beyond the property line. The sky is a pale silvery blue where it peeks through the wisps of clouds that promise snowfall at some point during the day. Thankfully, there’s not much in the way of wind, so it feels significantly less frigid than the temperature would lead one to believe it is. 

Harry can see a handful of people milling about just a couple metres ahead of them. The snow has been packed down to form a path through the trees along with signs to direct the guests to the clearing where the ceremony will take place. At the opening to the clearing there’s a beverage station set up with hot chocolate and mulled wine along with a few rustic-looking wooden crates containing thick wool blankets – all knitted by Harry’s Nan – to keep everyone warm and comfortable. 

Harry recognises Gemma’s friend Nicola, the one who has coordinated all the details and overseen the set up, as he and Louis approach the small grouping of people. 

“Oh, Harry, good you’re here!” She calls out to him with a friendly smile. “Gemma should be arriving any minute, so if you’ll come with me I’ll take you to where you can wait out of sight whilst the guests are being seated.” 

Harry turns to Louis with a questioning tilt to his brows. 

“I’ll be fine, Haz.” Louis assures him with an airy chuckle, reaching over to squeeze Harry’s gloved hand with his own. “Give Gems a hug for me, and try not to steal the show.” He jokes with a wink, releasing Harry’s hand from his grip and wandering over to where Robin and Harry’s nan are standing a few paces away. 

Harry watches him go with a wistful expression before turning his attention back to Nicola. He scrunches his nose and clears his throat awkwardly when he sees the knowing glint in her eyes. 

“Ready?” She asks brightly. 

Harry nods and follows after her, sparing one more look for Louis over his shoulder. He’s got Harry’s nan’s hand tucked chivalrously into the crook of his elbow as he carries on a lively conversation with Robin – their faces both lit up animatedly. Harry honestly shouldn’t have expected anything less; he knows firsthand how contagious Louis’ energy is, how being in his presence and having his attention on you makes you feel like the only person in the room. It’s a dangerous and addicting side effect of being around him, and Harry has watched many people fall victim to it in the short time he’s known Louis. The thing is, though, none of it is an act. Louis is as genuine as he is charming. 

Something that feels an awful lot like pride swells in Harry’s chest and drips into his veins like molasses; a sweet, slow crawl that spreads warmth through his extremities and makes him feel lit from within. With a final fleeting glance, Harry reluctantly turns his back on the happy scene. The smile that he’s wearing feels like it might be permanent. 

* 

It’s snowing softly by the time all the guests arrive and are seated. 

Gemma’s standing near the mouth of the clearing with her back to Harry, hidden from the waiting guests by the thick cover provided by towering pine and spruce trees. She turns over her shoulder at the sound of Harry’s boots crunching in the freshly fallen snow as he makes his way towards her. 

Her long-sleeved ivory satin gown is beautiful in its simplicity. The bateau neckline is modest, revealing just a hint of her pale skin and collarbones but dips into a more daring low V in the back. It’s tapered in at the waist, accentuating her slim silhouette, then billows out into a skirt that’s full whilst somehow still managing not to be bulky. Her light blonde hair is woven into a braided updo, a few wavy tendrils left out to frame her heart-shaped face, and on top of her head sits a flower crown made from baby’s breath. It compliments the bouquet she’s holding which is made up of the same with the addition of black dahlias and a few sprigs of evergreen. She’s stunning. Seeing her looking so elegant and grown up in her wedding gown pulls sharply on Harry’s heartstrings, his throat tightening automatically with the sudden onset of emotion. 

“Hey, shit head.” She calls out playfully. 

 _Alright, maybe not so grown up after all_ , Harry muses with a snicker. 

He approaches, dismissing her words with a fond roll of his eyes. As far as greetings from his sister go, it’s a fairly common one. “Hi, Gems. You look beautiful.” 

“No, no, no. _No_. Fuck, stop that right now! Do _not_ get all sappy on me, Haz.” She warns with a scowl and a sharp jab to Harry’s ribs. “It took way longer than I’d care to admit to get my makeup perfect, and if you make me cry and ruin this masterpiece I’ll never, ever forgive you.” 

Harry suppresses his laughter and tucks his amused grin into the palm of his gloved hand. “Bit dramatic even for you, sis. Would you prefer that I lie and call you ugly instead?” 

“Yes!” Gemma squeaks, her voice already thickening with emotion. 

Harry’s grin grows wider at her ridiculousness. “You really look like shit, Gems. I think you probably could have put forth a bit more effort considering it’s your wedding day and all.” 

A startled, wet sounding laugh bursts from her lips. Harry graciously chooses not to comment on how close it sounds to a sob. “Get over here, you absolute wanker.” She demands. 

Harry bites down on that ever-so-persistent grin and closes the distance between them, pulling his sister into his arms. He buries his face in the crook of her neck and inhales the comforting scent of her perfume – lavender, English pear, and freesia. It reminds him of summer nights and skinned knees and his Nan’s garden. It smells like childhood, like home. She melts into his embrace, her arms wound tightly around his broad shoulders and her simple bouquet pressed against his back. 

He cradles her petite frame to his chest and turns his head to whisper in her ear, “I couldn’t be happier for you, Gems, and I’m so honoured to be the one to give you away. Not really giving you away though, am I? You’ll always be my big sis, my role model, my best friend. I love you so much.” 

Gemma sniffles as Harry tightens his arms around her waist and presses a kiss into her hair. She pulls back abruptly and punches him hard in the bicep, aggressively wiping at her eyes. “I told you to cut that shit out, you arsehole! Fuck, my eyeliner.” 

Harry giggles and pulls a tissue out of his pocket, offering it to her with a sheepish smile. She accepts it gratefully with trembling hands and allows him to help her fix her makeup. 

“There.” He says with a nod, trying with all his might to ignore the way his chin has started to wobble. “Good as new.” 

Gemma swipes at the few rogue tears that have made their way down his cheeks without permission. “Love you, baby bro. You’ll always be my favourite.” 

Thankfully, before their emotional tirade can spiral any further, the sound of an acoustic guitar cuts through the frosty air. Thayer’s sister, Fallon, and her boyfriend, Elliot, had agreed to provide the music for the ceremony. Their two lovely voices blend in perfect harmony to accompany the guitar, and Harry smiles to himself when he recognises the song as _Skinny Love_ by Bon Iver. His sister is such a hipster. 

“Guess that’s our cue.” Gemma says on a shaky exhale, blotting under her eyes one last time with the tissue and anxiously smoothing down the front of her dress. 

“You’re perfect, Gems.” Harry assures her. “Thayer isn’t going to know what hit him. C’mon, let’s get you married.” He kisses her delicate hand, clad in an ivory leather glove, and tucks it into the crook of his arm. “Ready?” 

“Let’s do this.” She nods, excitement bleeding into her voice as she squeezes his arm. 

Together they step into the clearing, following the path of a makeshift aisle marked by fragrant evergreen garlands. Chairs have been set up on either side of it to accommodate their friends and family. The group gathered to witness the nuptials is a small one, probably only about thirty-five to forty people in total, but Harry thinks that makes it all the more special. Each person in attendance has played an important role in Gemma’s and Thayer’s upbringing or in their lives since becoming a couple. Being surrounded by the ones who know and love them best creates an atmosphere of comfort and familiarity and lends a sense of nostalgia to the intimate affair. 

As they make their way down the aisle, Harry’s heart soars at the sight of Louis sitting right up front next to Robin; woven in with Harry’s family like it’s his natural place to be. Like it’s where he belongs. He’s beaming, the skin around his bright blue eyes crinkled up with happiness as he watches Harry and Gemma’s slow progress. He’s so radiant and gorgeous that Harry is reluctant to pull his attention away from him, but he manages somehow, shifting his focus back to Gemma as the two of them approach where Thayer is stood waiting. He turns around with his lower lip trapped between his teeth and his brows raised expectantly. When his eyes light on Gemma, there’s an audible hitch in his breathing, the anticipatory tension that had his body drawn tight like a bow string snaps, and a brilliant smile overtakes his face. It’s quite sweet to witness. 

Gemma spares a few moments to gaze at him lovingly, then turns to Harry with a vaguely threatening look on her face. As if to say, _make me cry again and I’ll knock you out_. Harry heeds her unspoken warning. They’ve already said everything they need to say. He pulls her into one last hug, discreetly handing her a couple more tissues out of view of everyone else, then pulls away after a lingering kiss to her forehead. 

Gemma squeezes his forearm and steps back so that Thayer can make his way over to hug Harry as well. They start with a handshake that moves into one of those one-armed manly bro hug things. The three of them laugh at how cliché it is. 

“Take care of her.” Harry whispers, his voice pitched low so only Thayer will be able to hear him. “I know she’s more than capable of holding her own, but just—take care of her, okay?” 

Thayer holds him at arm’s length, one hand reaching out to squeeze his shoulder, the other patting his cheek affectionately. “Of course, H. Always.” 

With a nod, Harry reaches for Gemma’s hand, placing it in Thayer’s. He knows it’s a symbolic gesture, but he tries not to think too hard about the meaning behind it, attempting instead to remind himself of the conversation he and Gemma had earlier when he said he wasn’t really giving her away. He’s still on the verge of tears when he slips into his seat next to Louis, but his heart feels a little lighter when the other boy holds back the corner of the blanket settled across his lap so Harry can cuddle in next to him and reaches for his hand. 

* 

The officiant is a middle-aged man with round, wire-rimmed glasses and a small golden hoop through his ear. He speaks in lilting, highly accented English and bears a striking resemblance to Ringo Starr (that little fact earns Harry the most beautiful-sounding giggle from Louis when he leans over to whisper as much in his ear). He has a likeable, easygoing air about him, and his dry wit compliments Gemma and Thayer’s personalities perfectly. He’s kind of awesome. 

They move through the opening formalities rather quickly, getting right to heart of things without much fuss. It’s short, sweet, and to the point, something Harry knows reflects the no-nonsense nature of his sister’s personality. Before long, it’s time for them to exchange vows and rings. Thayer slips Gemma’s glove off like a proper Victorian gentleman and slides the ring onto her finger smoothly. Gemma responds in kind, placing a black metal band on Thayer’s ring finger. They conclude their vows with each of them reciting the phrase, “May my arms be your shelter, and my heart your home.” 

Harry discreetly glances at Louis out of the corner of his eye, thinking back to how he had woken up in his arms that morning, and how immeasurably safe and secure he had felt. He thinks back to his first few weeks at uni when he was battling homesickness due to being away from his mum for the first time, and how Louis had been so lovely about it. He never made fun of Harry or called him a baby like some boys might have done. Instead, he validated his feelings by admitting how much he too was struggling with being away from his family and adjusting to the challenges of living on his own for the first time. Despite his own struggle, he did everything in his power to cheer Harry up and help him find comfort in their new surroundings. At Louis’ suggestion, they had gone to the shops to buy the same washing powder that Harry’s mum used, then Louis had made him tea and together they washed Harry’s brand new sheets and duvet. Afterwards, they had curled up together in his narrow twin bed on freshly laundered linens, surrounded by the comforting, familiar scent of lavender, and Louis had whispered, “We’ll make this feel like home, yeah?” 

It’s been four months of knowing each other, and Louis’ arms have already become Harry’s shelter, Louis’ heart already feels like home. 

* 

Once the ceremony has ended, the majority of the guests make their way back to the cars that have been arranged to transport everyone to the reception venue, only immediate family sticking around to take a few formal photos with the bride and groom. Louis hangs back and watches the scene from a distance, pulling faces behind the photographer’s back when he catches Harry’s eye. 

The Styles-Twist family finishes up with their round of photos, and Thayer’s family is ushered in for their turn. They’re meant to take a couple with both families so Harry settles down to wait with his mum, Robin, Louis, and his Nan. 

Anne is fussing with Harry’s tie, obviously needing something to keep her hands busy, when Harry tunes in to a conversation taking place just over his mum’s shoulder between Louis and his Nan. 

“Beautiful ceremony.” His Nan comments, the wistfulness of her tone causing Harry to suspect that she is reminiscing about her own wedding day. “I’ve always loved weddings. There’s something so hopeful about watching two people commit their lives to one another. The world can always use more of that.” 

Louis nods his agreement. “I quite fancy weddings too. Can’t wait for my own if ‘m honest.” 

“Even as young as you are?” Harry hears his Nan ask. 

Louis ducks his head a bit bashfully, like he’s all too aware that most boys his age aren’t very concerned with settling down. Harry watches his eyelashes flutter slightly against his cheek bones as he seems to collect his thoughts and work out what he wants to say in response. There are snow flakes caught in them, it’s very beautiful and very distracting. After a moment, Louis lifts his chin resolutely and Harry just about melts right where he’s standing when Louis looks directly at him and answers with a hint of a smile and a quiet but confident, “Yeah.” 

* 

The reception is well underway, members of the hotel staff dutifully clearing plates and cutlery from tables after another spectacular meal and distributing flutes of champagne for the toasts to begin. Harry bounces in his seat a bit, hands twisting nervously in his lap as he waits for his turn to speak. It comes all too soon. 

He’s shaking a bit when he gets to his feet, never having been very confident in his public-speaking abilities. Give him a guitar and he’ll welcome the attention of a crowd, but without it he feels a bit exposed. Maybe he should have written Gemma and Thayer a song in lieu of a toast. 

“Hiii,” He drawls out nervously, his hand clammy as he grips the microphone. “So, I’m not really the most eloquent speaker, but I do have loads of stories I can tell about growing up with Gemma.” He gives a sheepish little shrug; relieved to be greeted by nothing but encouraging smiles as he glances around the room. “Right, so, if you have spent any amount of time around the two of us you probably know that I absolutely adore Gems. I’ve pretty much been following her around since I learnt to walk, and I’ve just always really looked up to her.” Harry pauses dramatically for the token oohing and awing from the crowd. 

Coughing into his fist, he soldiers on. “That being said, there was a time when she wasn’t quite so keen on having her dorky little brother around.” He lifts his shoulders in a self-deprecating shrug in response to the affronted protests of some of the guests. “Hard to believe, I know.” He beams. 

“Gems and I are about four years apart in age, but when we were growing up it sometimes felt like much more of a gap. I just completely idolised her. Anyway, when I was about eight, I think, and Gemma was twelve, she decided she was far too cool for me and didn’t want me hanging about when her friends from school would come round. Of course, she was too nice to flat out tell me to get lost, so she came up with a way to get rid of me without hurting my feelings. She told me that I could be the postman for her and her friends and deliver them letters. Which basically meant she shoved me off in a corner to color her pictures then fold them up in envelopes then “deliver” them by slipping them under her bedroom door to her and her friends. Ten years later, I can now see that for the rejection it was, and I have to commend you on your brilliance, Gem. It kept me busy and out of your way and I still felt like I was a part of your group.” Laughter ripples through the ballroom as Gemma shakes her head at him with fond eyes. 

Adopting an air of self-importance, Harry holds a hand to his chest. “Naturally, I took my role as postman very seriously, and spent hours painstakingly writing you letters and coloring you pictures on my bedroom floor. I’m sure you couldn’t be bothered to read all of them, but every once in a while you would write me something back and slip it under my door. Earlier this week, after you, mum, and Robin had left to come up here, I was looking through my wardrobe and I found a box with a couple of the letters – the ones where you had written something back. I read through them and came across this gem—no pun intended—” Harry shoots his sister an exaggerated wink as the crowd groans and cracks up in equal measure at his cheekiness. “—and I’m just going to read it to you all.” 

“Ahem,” Harry clears his throat theatrically, thumping his closed fist against his chest. “ _Dear Gemma, You are the coolest big sister ever!!!_ Three exclamation marks. _When I grow up, I want to be just like you! Love, Harry_. And below that I’d drawn a picture of what I think was meant to be the two of us holding hands, but I was never much of an artist so I can’t be sure.” He grins and turns the piece of paper around to show everyone little eight-year-old Harry’s artistic masterpiece. “And this is what you wrote back… _Harry, could you please ask mum if Evangeline and Charlotte can stay for supper? Also will you bring us tea?_ ” 

Harry purses his lips against his smile, shaking his head at Gemma as the whole room dissolves into laughter. “The funny bit is,” He continues when the crowd settles, “I don’t think I was even disappointed that she basically flat out ignored my extremely heartfelt message. I was just happy to feel like I was being included. So, Gems, in the spirit of old times, I got you and Thayer a little gift.” Harry reaches into his suit and withdraws a small black case from the inner pocket. Inside of it is a set of custom printed address labels with Gemma and Thayer’s names on them. He places the case into his sister’s hands and watches her face light up when she opens it, tilting it to show Thayer as well. “Maybe you can use them to write me letters this time.” He suggests softly, an undercurrent of childhood nostaligia penetrating his tone. 

Gemma reaches for his hand and squeezes it gratefully, smiling up at him with tears in her eyes. Harry rubs his thumb over the back of her hand and releases it, lifting the microphone once more to finish his toast. “The last thing I want to say is this: I’m only eighteen, so I know a lot of people would probably say I don’t know a whole lot about love, but I know it when I see it. I saw it in Gemma’s eyes when she came home for Christmas after her first term abroad and told us all about some bloke she met called Thayer, and I see it there still. I see it in the way you speak to each other with respect, in the way you tease each other with playfulness and familiarity, in the way you care for each other with tenderness, in the way you look at each other like there’s nothing else you see. I may not know much about love, but I know it’s a gift, and a precious one at that. So, my hope for the two of you is that you would wake up every day and choose to recognise what you have for the gift that it is; that you would cherish each other. Gems, we may be all grown up now, but I hope you know I still think you’re the coolest, I still want to be just like you. And no matter what, I’ll always be your baby brother and your favourite postman.” Harry’s voice breaks on the last few words. He inhales wetly and reaches for his flute of champagne, holding it aloft. “If everyone would please raise your glasses to Gemma and Thayer. I love you both so much. Cheers!” 

Before he even has a chance to take a sip of his champagne, Gemma is crashing into him with a sob. Thayer comes up behind her and pats Harry’s shoulder, sandwiching an emotional Gemma in between them. 

“What the fuck, H? I thought we talked about this! Do I really need to give you the speech about not ruining my makeup again? _Christ_.” Gemma sniffs, pounding at his chest with an ineffectual fist. 

Thayer snickers and rubs at her back soothingly. “That was beautiful, man.” 

Harry dips his head modestly. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see his mum is in a similar state to Gemma, Robin chuckling as he tries to comfort her to no avail, and Louis. Louis is beaming at him like he hung the moon in the sky and taught the stars how to shine. His eyes look a little wet around the edges as he gives Harry a thumbs up and mouths _smashed it_. 

* 

Once the rest of the toasts have finished and the cake has been cut and subsequently devoured, the DJ announces it’s time for Gemma and Thayer to share their first dance. They make their way to the middle of the dance floor as the first strums of an acoustic guitar filter through the speakers positioned around the ballroom. Thayer twirls Gemma under his arm, then gathers her against his chest. His chin is resting on top of her head, their bodies swaying softly as Chris Martin’s voice joins in with the guitar. 

_Steal my heart and hold my tongue_

_I feel my time, my time has come_

_Let me in, unlock the door_

_I never felt this way before_  

Harry’s eyes stray from the happy couple on the dance floor to the boy next to him. Louis is watching Gemma and Thayer with such a wistful, faraway expression on his face. Harry wonders if he’s imagining his own wedding some day, if he’s thinking about what song he and his spouse would have their first dance to. Would they do a proper waltz or just hold each other close, whisper sweet nothings, and steal kisses as the world spins around them? Harry knows what he would choose. 

As the music builds to the final chorus, he can’t tear his eyes away from Louis’ profile – his artfully tousled fringe, his gorgeous complexion, the dark smudge of his lashes against his sharp cheekbones, the shadows dancing across his face from the flickering candlelight around the room. He’s so beautiful like this. He’s so beautiful always. 

_For you I’d wait ‘til kingdom come_

_Until my days, my days are done_

_Say you’ll come and set me free_

_Just say you’ll wait, you’ll wait for me_  

Their eyes meet just as the final notes fade, Thayer dipping Gemma with a kiss while the room around them erupts in applause. _Wait for me_ , Harry implores him silently. _Please, just wait for me_. 

Louis winks at him as he brings two fingers to his mouth for a wolf whistle, the sound of it sharp and clear above the din of the room, and Harry hopes all the noise didn’t drown out his plea. Louis shoots him an elated grin, looking quite pleased with himself. Harry offers him a smile of his own in return, his eyes saying all the things he’s too frightened to put into words. _For you I’d wait ‘til kingdom come_. 

* 

After their first dance, Gemma and Thayer are barely given a moment to catch their breath before they’re being pulled away by their photographer. Harry watches them leave hand in hand, heading outside to take some photos of just the two of them in the snow. 

He and Louis are sat at their table with Robin as Anne and Harry’s Nan make their way around the room to converse with various relatives and family friends. The DJ is playing the typical music you would expect for this early in the reception; a mix of upbeat top forty hits that anyone would know the words to and be able to sing along with, and older classics to appease the pensioners. Gemma had assured them earlier that once the few guests with young children and both sets of grandparents had begged off to bed, it would turn into a proper piss up. 

Harry is distracted for a moment by something Robin says, and when he turns back around he sees Gemma’s best friend, Evangeline, dragging Louis out onto the dance floor as _I Would Do Anything For You_ by Foster The People starts to play. Harry watches amusedly as Louis tries to resist, waving his hands about and shaking his head, but Eva’s not having any of it. Louis throws a pleading look to Harry over his shoulder, but Harry just gives him a thumbs up and an exaggerated wink. 

Louis shuffles around awkwardly for a moment, trying to pick up some sort of rhythm and smiling sheepishly at his dance partner. She leans forward and says something to him that makes him bark out a startled laugh, and then the tension in his body seems to dissipate. In no time at all, he’s doing a ridiculous rendition of “the sprinkler,” one arm cocked behind his head, the other extended straight out as he spins around and thrusts his hips exaggeratedly to the utter delight of Eva, and pretty much everyone else on the dance floor. More and more people get up from their seats and join in until the space is quite crowded and Harry has to crane his neck to keep an eye on Louis. He’s twirling Eva under one arm, and one of Harry’s cousins under the other now as the song hits the chorus. 

_Open up my heart and I must say that I love you so_

_Ooh la love I’ve fallen in love and it’s better this time than ever before_

_Ooh la love I’ve fallen in love and it’s better this time than I’ve ever known_

Harry gazes on fondly as Louis weaves his way in and out of the crowd of people, dancing with pretty much every one of Harry’s female relatives and all of Gemma’s friends. He gives Harry a sheepish shrug when he catches him watching, then squawks as he gets pulled back into the fray by one of Harry’s aunts.

_Every day is a battle I face_

_Strange life I live, but it’s what you’ve decided_

_I’ll give it all into your hands_

_Do what you will with me, and I’ll smile when you speak_

_Remember all those times I was hoping for something_

_And shaking my head from all I have done_

_But you never left me_

_Ooh la love I’ve fallen in love and it’s better this time than ever before_

_Ooh la love I’ve fallen in love and it’s better this time than I’ve ever known_

Warmth radiates out from Harry’s chest until he can feel it tingling all the way down to his toes as he listens to the music and watches his best friend charm the pants off everyone in the room. He couldn’t wipe the smile off his face if he tried. The song comes to a close, the fading last words of _I have fallen in love, I have fallen in love_ ringing in Harry’s ears, and all he can think is _yeah, yeah I have._  

A few more songs go by before Louis is able to extricate himself from his throng of admirers and make his way back over to their table. 

“Oof.” He exhales as he plops back down in his seat. “I’m knackered. Your relatives really know how to party, Haz. Cheeky devils, the lot of them. Now I see where you get it from. Your Aunt Rita pinched me bum at least four times!” 

“Ahh, better watch out, Lou.” Harry chuckles amusedly as Louis gulps down a glass of water. “She just separated from her husband, might be on the prowl for a younger man.” 

“Best not tell her I’m not much into birds then, wouldn’t want to break her heart during such a vulnerable time.” Louis says stoically, his hand on his chest. 

“Such a martyr, Lou. I’ll remember that when she’s trying to drag you out on the dance floor next time.” Harry giggles. 

Louis smirks and sticks his tongue out as he slouches down a bit in his seat, splaying his thighs open and tapping along to the beat of the music with his feet. He absentmindedly starts unbuttoning his dress shirt and tugging at his collar, and Harry gets a little lost for a moment tracking the movement as a bead of sweat rolls down his neck and pools in the dip of his newly exposed collar bones. _Christ_ , now Harry’s the one who’s sweating. He’s always had a bit of a thing for Louis’ collarbones. They’re sinful, really, the delicate ridge and the deep valley of them prominent underneath his golden skin. Harry would be lying if he said he hasn’t fantasised about taking shots of tequila out of them, and tracing their outlines with his tongue. Louis’ voice interrupts him from his dirty day dreaming, startling him so that he jumps a little in his seat. 

“I reckon I’m going to need a bit more alcohol to keep up with this crowd. Think I’m going to head over to the bar for a drink. Fancy anything, babe?” Louis asks as he puts his hands on his knees and pushes himself to his feet. 

“White wine, please.” Harry answers sweetly. 

“Such a posh boy.” Louis admonishes teasingly. “Don’t get too comfortable, Styles. When I get back, I’m getting you out on that dance floor.” 

“Better bring me two glasses, then. If you think I’d be caught dancing sober, you’re mad.” 

“That’s the spirit, love!” Louis pumps his fist in the air cutely, then slinks off in the direction of the bar across the room. 

Harry watches him go and counts himself lucky that Gemma isn’t around to see him, because he knows his face must be doing that thing she makes fun of him for where he looks so disgustingly in love that she says it makes her teeth hurt just to witness it. His “Louis face,” she calls it. He’s definitely making the Louis face. 

Whilst he waits for Louis to return, Harry amuses himself by watching his relatives and Gemma and Thayer’s friends jumping around and laughing as they dance. After a couple more songs go by, he sees his sister and her new husband return from outside. They both have snowflakes in their hair and giddy, lovesick smiles plastered across their faces. They immediately join the masses on the dance floor, Thayer twirling Gemma under his arm and then pulling her into him snugly and swaying their bodies to the beat. Harry tears his eyes away from the sweet sight to look for Louis - considering it’s been a while now since he went off on his quest for alcohol - when the song changes to _Maneater_ by Hall and Oates, and several older wedding guests cheer gleefully. Harry sees his mum pulling Robin out onto the floor out of the corner of his eye, and chuckles at Robin’s slightly terrified expression as they disappear into the sea of dancing bodies. 

Harry’s attention is suddenly drawn to the sound of laughter, he can pick out his sister’s distinctive laugh louder than the rest, and then the crowd on the dance floor is parting to reveal Louis. He’s got his back to Harry, one hand on his hip and his other arm raised to shoulder height as he snaps along to the beat of the opening saxophone notes. When he turns around, Harry absolutely loses it. He’s wearing a pair of dark wayfarer sunnies that he got from lord knows where, and he’s popping his hip in time with the beat as he begins to make his way across the dance floor towards Harry. 

When he’s about halfway to their table, he stops in the middle of the dance floor, tilting his head down to look right at Harry over the top of his glasses and give him a wicked smirk. He extends his arm out and crooks his finger playfully, beckoning Harry onto the dance floor. Harry throws his head back and laughs at his antics, the entire room seemingly holding their collective breath as they watch the exchange amusedly. Louis waggles his eyebrows and crooks his finger again, this time more insistently, and now Gemma and a few of his relatives have started to shout at him to come join them as well. He puts both hands up in a defensive gesture and shakes his head, biting down hard on his lower lip to try and contain his face-splitting grin. It doesn’t really work. Louis struts his way over, and bends down to place both of his hands on Harry’s thighs. 

His heart accelerates rapidly when Louis leans forward to whisper, “I won’t take _no_ for an answer, Styles,” into his ear, and gives his thighs a firm squeeze. 

Then he’s pulling Harry to his feet by the lapels of his suit jacket, and leading him out onto the floor to the delighted cheers of the other guests. 

“Lou!” Harry yells over the music. “I’m rubbish at dancing, I’m going to look like such a prat!” 

“There’s nothing to it, love!” Louis shouts back. When Harry shoots him a doubtful look, he presses on. “Don’t think. Just let go, babe, and follow my lead.” 

With that, Louis releases his hold on Harry’s suit jacket in favor of reaching for his hand and guiding him into an awkward twirl. Harry stumbles a bit at the end of it and falls into Louis’ body. Their faces are mere centimetres apart, both smiling like loons and breathing heavily, and then they’re jostled out of the moment by Gemma colliding into Harry’s back. He reluctantly puts some space between himself and Louis to make room for his sister and Thayer. The four of them dance together as their little circle gets progressively wider, allowing more people to join in. Abruptly, the beat gets much heavier, and the lyrics _watch out boy, she’ll chew you up_ play on a loop as the DJ expertly transitions into a hip hop song that’s some kind of remix of _Maneater_.

Clearly, the party is about to get more rowdy and the dancing is about to take a turn for the dirty if this song is any indication of the direction the music is heading. Gemma and Thayer start grinding to Harry’s right. He covers his eyes dramatically and ribs his sister about traumatising him. To which she responds by brandishing her middle finger and tilting her head back to kiss her new husband solidly on the mouth. Anne laughs at their exchange as she observes them fondly from Gemma’s other side, still dancing with an amused and slightly tipsy-looking Robin. Harry pouts and turns back to Louis, burying his face in his shoulder and complaining about not wanting to see his sister snogging some bloke in the middle of the dance floor, whether she’s married to him or not. 

“Aww, babe, cheer up. It’s her wedding day. Look how happy she is.” Louis nudges Harry’s head with his chin, encouraging him to look over at the newlyweds. 

Thayer is whispering something into Gemma’s ear that has her giggling like mad and leaning back into his embrace. 

“Yeah.” Harry admits, a smile creeping over his face. “She does look pretty happy.” 

“Besides, you’re supposed to be paying attention to me anyways. Bit rude to be watching another couple instead of your own dance partner. I know Anne raised you better than that, Harold, honestly.” 

“My sincerest apologies, _Lewis_.” Harry giggles, mocking Louis by dipping into a little bow. “I promise to be nothing but a proper gentleman from now on.” 

“That’s a shame, I don’t want you to be a proper gentleman.” Louis says seriously. 

Harry’s heart begins to race, sweat prickling on the back of his neck. “Oh?” He squeaks. “And why not?” 

“Because a proper gentleman definitely wouldn’t do _this_.” Louis growls playfully, yanking Harry closer by his belt loops and rolling their hips together. 

Every rational thought flies out of Harry’s head and is immediately replaced with static. His blood feels hotter and thicker as it flows through his veins and pounds in his ears. Louis grinds against him filthily, holding him close with his hands on Harry’s hips, and Harry could really use that glass of wine right about now. A bottle would be nice, actually. Louis is smirking and looking up at him with glassy, heavy-lidded eyes, indicating that he _did_ manage to get his own drink before he dragged Harry out onto the dance floor. He rolls his hips again, his fingers digging further into Harry’s hips, and in that moment nothing about Harry’s life seems fair. 

Thankfully, he gets a momentary reprieve from his slow descent into madness when the song ends and the DJ pauses to make a quick announcement. It doesn’t last long, however, because the next song is starting up and Harry pales as he recognises _Calle Ocho_ by Pitbull. It’s a really unfortunate choice because now he has to watch Louis’ sinful body as he rotates his hips and shakes his arse in a manner that has Harry sweating and his trousers feeling too tight. He’s mesmerised as he watches the fluid, sensual movements of Louis’ body, more graceful than anyone has a right to be. He swings his hips, pawing at Harry’s chest to pull him in by his tie as he sings along enthusiastically _I know you want me, you know I want ya,_ and Harry’s a bloody goner. 

“Oh my god!” He squeals delightedly, trying to keep things light and playful so Louis won’t catch on to the fact that he’s dying a slow, painful death by way of sexual frustration on the inside. “You can actually dance!” 

“Nah, I’ve just got an arse like a Kardashian so I can fake it pretty well.” Louis jokes. 

“No, Lou.” Harry snorts and shakes his head. “You’re like, really, properly good.” 

“Good thing you picked me over the other lads to be your date then, yeah?” 

“Yeah.” Harry agrees. Something inside him gives and he speaks before he can really think about what he’s saying. “There’s no one else I’d rather be here with than you.” 

Louis ducks his head bashfully, and for a moment Harry worries he’s been too candid and come on too strong, but then Louis is smiling up at him, his blue eyes smoldering from beneath his lashes and he says, “I feel the exact same, babe.” 

Harry can’t breathe for several seconds. When he regains lung function, he coughs into his fist awkwardly in an attempt to distract Louis from how obviously, utterly besotted he is. 

“So you’re having a good time, then?” Harry asks, now chewing on the knuckle of his index finger - a nervous habit that seems to come out in full force when Louis is around and Harry is having a particularly difficult time controlling himself (which is more often than he’d care to admit). 

“I’m having a brilliant time, Haz. This whole weekend’s been amazing. Not much looking forward to going back to Uni, if I’m honest.” 

“We’ve still got all day tomorrow, though. After brunch in the morning, we can spend the rest of day on the slopes if you want, and I booked our return tickets for Monday morning on a later train so that we could have a bit of a lie-in to recover before we head home.” 

“That sounds ace, babe. Can’t wait.” 

* 

Somehow, Louis and Harry get roped in to doing shots with Thayer, Gemma, Evangeline, Thayer’s sister, Fallon and her boyfriend Elliot, Thayer’s two best mates, Max and Damian, and a couple of Harry and Gemma’s cousins. Things get a little hazy and a little sloppy after that. Most of the older crowd has turned in for the night, the few children that had been present earlier are long gone now, and the party is in full swing. 

Apparently, Thayer and his friends choreographed a dance routine to _Mambo Number 5_ for a talent show they did in secondary, and they perform it, much to the enjoyment of the remaining guests. Thayer commandeers a microphone and drunkenly sings along, changing the names of all the girls mentioned in the song to Gemma. It’s an absolute riot, everyone is cheering and whistling and laughing their arses off at the trio’s performance. 

Louis convinces Harry to attempt to do a bit of swing dancing as they watch, but they end up in a pile of tangled limbs on the floor when Louis gets too ambitious and tries to dip Harry. They roll around clutching their stomachs from laughing so hard until Gemma and Fallon come over and haul them up to their feet again. Someone requests some Spice Girls and old school Britney, which quickly devolves into everyone drunkenly singing along at the top of their lungs. By the time _My Humps_ by The Black Eyed Peas comes on, Harry is drunk off his arse and having the time of his life. He’s practically hanging off of Louis’ braces as the two of them struggle to remain upright. 

Louis giggles into his neck when Harry starts singing, “Watcha gonna do with all that ass, all that ass inside them jeans?” and responds by turning around and grinding his arse right up against Harry’s crotch as he adopts an exaggerated falsetto and croons back, “I’ma make make make make you scream. Make you scream, make you scream!” 

Even in his intoxicated state, Harry starts to panic a little bit because he’s pretty much been half hard in his trousers since Louis pulled him onto the dance floor hours ago, and now he’s having a really difficult time controlling his thoughts and his body’s inevitable response to having the boy of his dreams sweaty and rubbing up against him in all the right places. He somehow finds the will to peel himself off of Louis’ back and rattles off an excuse about needing to use the loo before he makes a quick escape. 

He does actually end up in the loo, white-knuckling the counter as he tries to steady himself with a couple deep breaths. He splashes some cold water on his face and messes with his sweaty fringe for a few minutes, but eventually he’s run out of stalling tactics and he knows he has to get back out there. 

By some unprecedented stroke of luck, Louis has removed himself from the dance floor in Harry’s absence and is now sat back at their table chugging a glass of water and fanning himself idly with his hand. 

“Alright, babe?” He asks as Harry approaches. 

“Yeah ‘m good. You?” 

“Brilliant, but knackered.” He beams. “Needed a breather, but I practically had to pry Gemma’s friends off me with a tire lever before I could sneak away.” 

“No surprise there. You’re the life of the party, Lou.” 

“Look who’s talking, you cheeky bugger, I had no idea you could dance like that.” 

“I can’t dance, Lou.” Harry laughs. “You’re just pissed enough that it seems like I can.” 

“Don’t sell yourself short, Styles. I saw some moves out there.” 

Harry casts his eyes downwards with a minute shake of his head, his lips twitching with a bashful smile. The room feels too loud; the pounding pulse of the music, the crush of bodies, the clink of glasses. Having Louis’ attention on him always feels like standing under the sun’s rays, and Harry is selfish with it. He wants to be alone with Louis, to be the only one his light touches. 

Louis nudges Harry’s boot with the toe of his shoe to re-capture his attention; as if Harry’s attention would ever stray anywhere else, as if he was ever anything less than painfully, punishingly aware of Louis. “Do you want to get out of here? Go somewhere quieter to sober up a bit?” He asks, seemingly reading Harry’s mind. 

Harry tips his head to the side, his smile widening and spreading across his face like a rosebud blossoming into full bloom when an idea occurs to him. “I think I know just the place, actually.” 

He pulls Louis to his feet and leads him across the ballroom. They look around to make sure no one’s spotted them leaving, and then slip quietly out the door. As they make their way down the corridor, Harry reaches for Louis’ hand and laces their fingers to pull him along. 

“Where are we going?” Louis giggles breathlessly, almost jogging to keep up with Harry’s longer strides. 

“You’ll see.” Harry answers coyly. 

They approach a set of heavy double doors at the end of the hall, and Harry drops Louis’ hand to turn around and face him. He presses his back up against one of the doors as his lips slowly curl in a mischievous smirk. 

“Wanna see where we’re having brunch tomorrow?” 

Louis nods and Harry grins at him and reaches behind himself to open the door, walking backwards across the threshold and into the room. Louis gasps when he follows Harry inside and takes in the sight before them. They’re standing in a huge glass dome that was once an outdoor greenhouse during the Victorian era when the chateau was built, and has since been restored and attached to the main house by the corridor from whence they just came. It’s now a botanical garden with a vast assortment of flowers and a variety of exotic trees and shrubbery. 

The space is lit by fairy lights that have yet to be taken down after the Christmas holiday. Most of the room is in shadow, untouched by the twinkling lights strung through the taller trees, and making the overall ambiance soft and romantic. The light is dim enough that they can see straight out the glass walls to the garden outside, and the peaks of the mountains in the distance. The softly falling snow gives the illusion that they are trapped in a giant snow globe, and makes the overall effect of the room even more magical. 

Louis is turning in slow circles just taking it all in, a look of child-like wonder on his face, and Harry can’t take his eyes off him. 

“This is like something out of a film. It’s beautiful.” Louis whispers, as if he would disturb the enchanting atmosphere of the room by speaking any louder. 

“It is.” Harry agrees, not looking at the room at all, but rather at the boy who’s more beautiful than anything else on earth. 

Louis turns on his heel abruptly so he’s facing Harry once more; his eyes still alight with excitement and a trace of mischief that never fully seems to leave them. “Dance with me.” He says. 

“I thought you were knackered.” Harry teases. “Aren’t you tired of dancing?” 

Louis stuffs his hands in his pockets and shrugs, cocking his head to the side adorably. “Haven’t had a proper slow dance yet. What kind of wedding date would I be if I didn’t give you at least one slow dance?” 

“There’s no music.” Harry points out. 

Louis laughs, rocking back on his heels with his hands still buried in the pockets of his trousers. “Now, see, if this was one of your rom coms, Harold, I would say something ridiculously corny like ‘ _then we’ll make our own_.’ I’ll spare us the cliché, though, because lucky for you, I’ve come prepared.” Louis digs his mobile out of his pocket and fiddles around with it for a moment until _Kiss Me_ by Ed Sheeran starts filtering through the speakers. He sets it down on a chair off to the side, turning the volume up as high as it will go, then approaches Harry with his hand outstretched. 

_Settle down with me_

_Cover me up, cuddle me in_

_Lie down with me,_

_And hold me in your arms_  

Harry takes Louis’ hand with a bashful smile and a small shake of his head. Louis, of course, takes it a step further and dips into a low, theatrical bow, maintaining eye contact as he bends forward to kiss the back of Harry’s hand. Harry claps his free hand over his mouth to stifle his giggles as Louis pulls him in closer. 

“I thought you said no clichés.” He teases as Louis places Harry’s hand on his shoulder. 

“Couldn’t resist that one.” Louis smirks playfully, moving his own hands down to Harry’s hips. 

Harry wraps his arms around Louis’ neck and laces his fingers behind his head as they start to sway together. He feels molten, like his insides have completely melted and now he’s burning from the inside out, but he also feels weightless and effervescent like a soap bubble, his body drifting wherever Louis takes him. 

_Kiss me like you want to be loved_

_You wanna be loved_

_You wanna be loved_

_This feels like falling in love_

_Falling in love_

_We’re falling in love_  

As the music swells Harry feels tears spring to his eyes; he loves Louis so much it hurts, wants him so badly that every fibre of his being aches with it. He knows he will never feel for someone else even a fraction of what he’s feeling right now, safe in the arms of the boy who owns his heart and takes his breath away. 

Louis pulls him in closer and whispers, “Hey, Haz?” 

Harry’s heart is beating so loudly in his chest that it would be a miracle if Louis can’t hear it. “Yeah, Lou?” He whispers back, barely even breathing. 

“You’re my favourite person.” 

Harry squeezes his eyes tightly shut and the tears he was holding back spill over and roll silently down his cheeks. This moment feels like a tipping point, and he’s teetering on the ledge, gripped by a fear so intense it has his heart clamped in a vice, and a hope so fierce he almost feels invincible. He’s absolutely terrified to take that first step over the edge, not knowing if Louis will be there to catch him when he falls, but also wanting with all his heart and soul to take the leap. He’s paralysed by indecision, frozen in place on a precipice of _what if?_  

“You’re my favourite person too.” Harry admits quietly. “I want to remember this night forever.” 

The song comes to an end and they’re enveloped in a weighty silence as their bodies stop swaying, but they still cling to one another. 

“Let’s make sure you don’t forget it then.” Louis says resolutely, pulling back to look into Harry’s eyes. 

For a moment, Harry thinks Louis is going to kiss him, that all his dreams are about to become reality, but then Louis is stepping away from him and Harry watches all that hope crumble to ash at his feet. He feels cold in the absence of his sun. Louis doesn’t go far, just over to the chair where he put his mobile. He retrieves it and then makes his way back to Harry. When he approaches, Harry sees that he’s pulled up the camera app. 

“Something to remember this by, yeah?” Louis suggests with a soft smile, holding out his phone as they both squeeze into the frame. 

 _As if I could ever forget,_ Harry thinks the moment before Louis turns and kisses his cheek just as he presses down on the button to take the picture. 

_As if I could ever forget._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be the last one with eighteen year old Harry and Louis before we skip ahead four years. As always, thank you for reading :)
> 
> P.S. I got tickets to go see one of Harry's shows this summer and I'm so excited I can hardly contain it! Tragically, I didn't discover my love for one direction until after they had already gone on hiatus, so I never had the chance to see them together live. Hopefully I'll still have the chance to see all the boys one day, but until then I suppose solo Harry will have to suffice ;) Anyone else going to see him in 2018?


	3. I don't deserve this, you look perfect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Louis go skiing the day after the wedding. Harry gives Louis a massage, Louis returns the favour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder, I've never visited Switzerland or been skiing before so apologies in advance to those of you who have if this is unrealistic. I researched to the best of my abilities so it would come across as accurate as possible, but there's nothing like firsthand experience I'm afraid :)

For the second time since arriving in Switzerland, Harry wakes up to Louis in bed with him. The loveliest sense of déjà-vu envelops him as he lifts his head off Louis’ chest and takes in the beauty of his sleeping figure. If he has fallen into some sort of _Groundhog Day_ phenomenon, doomed to re-live the same day over and over for eternity, he can’t say he’s bothered by it in the slightest. Waking up next to Louis day after day would feel a lot more like destiny than doom. It’s a fate Harry would happily be condemned to.

Whilst he waits for Louis to wake up, he reminisces on the events of the previous day. His heart swells with fondness as he recalls how utterly charming and lovely Louis had been with his family, how supportive he was with Harry and his anxiety towards his toast and escorting Gemma down the aisle. He remembers in painfully vivid detail how it felt to have Louis’ body pressed against him when they were dancing together, and he has an equally clear recollection of the dance they shared in private – the way Louis held him close with such tenderness, the words he spoke that pierced Harry’s heart, the soft press of his lips against Harry’s cheek. The memory of that kiss had lingered for hours afterwards, Harry’s skin tingling with warmth at the point of contact and overwhelming him with the insane urge to reach up and touch his face, as if pressing his hand to his cheek would somehow hold the feeling there. 

After their dance, they had laid on their backs on the floor, watching brilliant starbursts of colour illuminate the night sky outside their glass encased sanctuary as fireworks signaled the commencement of the new year. He’s not certain how long they had stayed like that, just lying next to each other on the floor – sometimes speaking quietly, sometimes just enjoying the moment and the comfortable little bubble of intimacy they had crafted between them – but eventually they had wandered back to the ballroom. The celebrations hadn’t died down until the early hours of the morning, and by the time all the guests had dispersed and they had made the trip back to the chalet with Anne and Robin, Harry and Louis hadn’t had enough energy to do more than strip down to their pants and undershirts and fall into bed – exhausted. It was the most satisfying kind of exhaustion, the kind that only comes after a day spent making memories you already know you will cherish, the kind that leaves you feeling light and buoyant instead of drained. 

Harry blinks his eyes to clear the lingering haze of sleep. The sweep of his lashes catches against Louis’ skin and causes him to shift around restlessly, the hint of a grin pulling at the corners of his lips even as he remains asleep. Harry can’t resist the lure of that soft, lax face or that sleepy grin, the curves of Louis’ lips beckoning him to coax them into a full-blown smile, so he lays his cheek against the exposed skin of Louis’ chest and collar bones where the neckline of his t-shirt dips low and flutters his lashes purposefully against that warm, fragrant expanse of bare skin. 

The reaction is nearly instantaneous. Louis turns his head into the pillow to hide his face, groaning softly as he tries, unsuccessfully, to conceal his smile from Harry. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, a breathy giggle right on its heels as Harry continues his assault. 

“Lou,” He singsongs gleefully “time to get up!” 

At first, the only response he’s graced with is a series of indecipherable monosyllabic grunts, so he decides to double his efforts.

“Cut that out, you menace.” Louis complains with no bite to his tone, his sleep-rough voice equally melodic and arousing to Harry. The sound of it reminds him of the crackle of static when the needle of his vintage record player first catches in the groove just before the music starts to play. It’s comforting to hear; the low, scratchy quality to it sending tingles down Harry’s spine and leaving him hypnotised. “It’s too damn early for me to defend myself properly.” Louis groans, swiping his hand down Harry’s face as punishment for waking him. 

Harry resists the childish urge to lick Louis’ palm as it passes over his mouth, but just barely. “Lou,” He laughs “it’s nearing half nine. We have to get up soon or we’ll miss brunch.” 

“Pish posh.” Louis says with a wave of his hand, his choice of words amusing Harry with how much they remind him of his nan. Ever the drama queen, Louis flops onto his stomach to avoid Harry’s ticklish advances and buries his face in the pillow once more. His voice is muffled, but Harry can still detect the whine in it when he asks, “Can’t we just stay in bed all day?” 

 _God, what an offer_. Harry is hard pressed to come up with anything he’d rather do than spend the entire day snuggled up in bed with a sleepy Louis – all soft golden skin, bleary blue eyes, and deliciously raspy voice. As he predicted, this trip has been one giant, excruciating test of Harry’s resolve, and he feels like he’s failing miserably. “ ‘Fraid not.” He sighs longingly. “I think Gems would be quite cross with me if we skipped out on brunch.” 

Louis blows a raspberry into the pillowcase. Harry loses yet another battle in the ongoing fight to not find every single thing he does charming and endearing and just all around adorable.

“Oh please, she’ll probably be too busy shagging her new husband to even show up herself.” 

Harry retracts his previous line of thinking, there’s absolutely nothing charming or adorable about _that_ comment. Progress.

He groans and claps his hands over his ears. “Ughh, Lou, please. That’s so gross.” 

Louis chuckles and reaches out to blindly pet at Harry’s fringe in apology. “Sorry, love. Just telling it like it is. Pretty sure had I been the one to get married last night, brunch would be the last thing on my mind this morning.” 

A thick, stifling current of heat gushes over Harry’s entire body, searing his skin and warming his cheeks. Images of he and Louis, as newlyweds themselves, rolling around in bed together flash, unbidden, through his mind. His brain supplies him with image after torturous image – the two of them laughing and kissing, exchanging starry-eyed smiles as their matching wedding bands knock together when they link their fingers, Louis hovering over him with sweat on his brow leaning down to whisper something equal parts filthy and domestic in his ear, probably calling him _Mr. Tomlinson_ just to watch Harry shiver, and – _oh boy_. Abort! 

Harry shakes his head violently, trying desperately to tear himself from that fantasy world. He’s eternally grateful that Louis still has his face turned away, because he’s fairly certain his reaction would be quite difficult to explain – _stupid, filthy, traitorous brain_. There’s nothing to be done about the blush he’s surely sporting, but he does manage to school his facial features just in time as Louis lifts his head slightly off the pillow and squints one eye open at him, his delicately curved brow rising in question. He gives Harry a quizzical onceover but mercifully doesn’t comment on his prolonged silence or the colour in his cheeks. 

“Alright, Harold,” He acquiesces with a loud exhale, “but if you expect me to abandon the warmth and comfort of this lovely, _lovely_ bed, then I shall require copious amounts of tea.” 

Harry mocks Louis with a dramatic sigh of his own, and throws in an eye roll for good measure. “I would expect nothing less.”

Rolling out of bed, he cheekily swats Louis’ bum with a pillow then sprints across the room before Louis gets the chance to retaliate. He chuckles to himself as he makes his escape down the staircase to the soundtrack of Louis threatening revenge and nattering on about what a cheeky little shit Harry is. 

* 

After bringing Louis a cuppa in bed, (for which he expressed his gratitude by smacking Harry upside the head with a pillow) and then coaxing him out from under the duvet with the promise of more, the two of them shower, dress for brunch, and make their way downstairs to where Anne and Robin are waiting. They keep up a polite stream of conversation on the drive to the resort, discussing the highlights of the previous day and Anne expressing her relief that everything had gone off without a hitch. 

Goose bumps rise on Harry’s arms as the four of them make their way to the greenhouse, his mind replaying the footage of him and Louis traveling the same route the night before – slightly clumsy from the alcohol they had consumed and giggling every time they bumped into one another. If he closes his eyes, he can almost feel the warmth and shape of Louis’ hand in his again - their fingers locked, Louis’ fitting perfectly in the spaces between Harry’s knuckles as Harry had pulled him along. 

The double doors are propped open this morning, and as they cross the threshold and step into the room, the memories only seem to tighten their grip on Harry’s heart. He can’t stop the flurry of images that flood his brain and leave him feeling overwhelmed as he takes in the space before him. Admittedly, everything looks a bit different in the light of day. It’s still beautiful, sure, but definitely lacking some of that magic, that romantic ambiance, that had been present the night before. Still, Louis seems to be having thoughts of a similar nature, as indicated by how the two of them lock eyes and share private smiles whilst Anne gushes about how absolutely lovely the room is. It feels good, like the two of them are privy to a secret no one else knows, something meant only for them. 

The tables that had been pushed to the side last night, with chairs stacked on top of them, are now arranged in the middle of the room. Flanking the cluster of tables on two sides, there are long, banquet tables set up with an assortment of delicious-smelling food for everyone to help themselves to buffet style. 

Anne and Robin excuse themselves to go greet Thayer’s parents, leaving Harry and Louis to their own devices. Harry spots Gemma having a chat with Thayer’s sister and her boyfriend, and makes a beeline for her, tugging Louis along behind him, when Fallon and Elliot wander off to peruse the refreshments. 

“Hi, Ge—” Harry is abruptly cut off by his sister pressing her fingers to his lips. Not so gently, he might add. 

“Don’t. Just…shh.” She commands, not even bothering to open her eyes. 

Harry can’t resist patronising her. “Aww, Gems, are you a bit hungover?” He asks in his sweetest, most innocent voice. 

“Try still pissed from last night.” She mumbles, pulling her hand away from Harry’s face to rub at her temples. 

“Perhaps you’re just drunk in love, darling?” Louis chimes in sweetly, hooking his chin over Harry’s shoulder. 

Harry giggles and moves his arm back to playfully elbow Louis in the ribs. Louis nips at his shoulder in retaliation, causing Harry to yelp. Caught up in their flirty little game, he completely forgets Gemma is even standing there, so her rough voice startles him when she speaks. 

“I hate you both so much right now.” 

“Aw c’mon, love.” Louis simpers with a soft, placating smile. He slides between Harry and Gemma and links arms with the two of them conspiratorially. “Let’s get you a mimosa, that should do the trick. Where’s that husband of yours?” 

At the mere mention of Thayer, Gemma’s stroppy demeanor seems to melt away almost instantly. She looks over her shoulder to where a similarly rough looking Thayer is piling his plate high with bacon and croissants, the pair of sunnies Louis had been sporting during his little dance number the night before perched on his nose, despite the fact that they are indoors. Harry supposes it is quite bright in the room, though, thanks to all the glass and the sun reflecting off the snow outside. 

The three of them make their way over to the buffet, and after getting Gemma the aforementioned mimosa and depositing her in the arms of her spouse, Harry and Louis load up their plates with enough of the rich, savoury breakfast fare laid out enticingly before them to land themselves in a food coma. 

Despite the fact that most everyone in attendance is nursing a hangover on some level, the brunch is a happy affair filled with good conversation and a healthy dose of laughter over the more ridiculous things they had all gotten up to amidst the previous evening’s festivities. It’s only a few hours into the new year, and already Harry can tell that he and 2014 are going to get on splendidly. He reminds himself that he and Louis have the rest of the day to spend together, just the two of them, and he can’t keep the smile off his face as they bid everyone farewell and return to the chalet to change clothes and bundle up before heading over to the neighbouring town of Zermatt to hit the slopes. 

*     

Zermatt is a quirky little town that somehow retains its cosy atmosphere despite being a veritable hub of tourism. The town itself is home to a modest population of roughly six thousand people, but thanks to its offering of the highest altitude winter sports area in the Alps, the lively ski scene provides the little town with a steady flow of outside visitors. Bahnhofstrasse, Zermatt’s main street, also offers an impressive assortment of charming boutique shops and restaurants. In order to keep air pollution at bay so as not to obstruct the staggeringly beautiful views of the Matterhorn looming over the quaint little town, there are no cars allowed in Zermatt, only electric buses and taxis. 

Harry and Louis take the train over from Adalheid and then one of the electric buses from the centre of town up to the ski lifts. After they’ve purchased their ski passes and are properly suited and equipped with all the gear they need to spend the day on the slopes, they head up the mountain. 

They get off at one of the lower-altitude pistes meant for less experienced skiers called Wolli’s Park, and Harry gives Louis an impromptu skiing lesson, more than happy to impart his wisdom to the other boy and relishing the shift in dynamic between them as he gets to be the one in charge for once. Though, in general, Harry’s athletic skills are sorely lacking and he possesses the uncanny ability to trip over thin air, skiing has always been the one notable exception. He moves with a level of grace he has yet to be able to achieve in any other aspect of his life. It’s a phenomenon he’s still genuinely confounded by, but he’s certainly not going to question it, especially when it puts him in a position of power over Louis. 

Louis takes to it easily, his natural athletic ability combined with his God-given grace making it a breeze to teach him the basics, and in no time at all he’s whining for them to get on with it and hit the slopes properly. Of course, all that enthusiasm disappears when Harry gives in and they have to climb to the top of one of the small hills. It’s not even steep enough to necessitate a chair lift, but Louis complains until Harry grabs his hands and starts towing him around on his skis. 

“C’mon, Haz, put those baby muscles of yours to use!” He chides teasingly, smile out in full force, his already pink lips even rosier from the cold. 

Harry merely shakes his head in response, his nose twitching as he fights the fond grin threatening to take over his face and his heart rate picking up a little at the thought of Louis noticing his physique. After an unnecessarily arduous trek, thanks to Louis being no help whatsoever, supplying nothing but a cheeky commentary and an endless string of ridiculous remarks that caused Harry to halt their already slow progress until his giggles had subsided, they make it to the top of the small slope. They’re surrounded by families with young children, and Louis is frowning at Harry petulantly. 

“You’ve got to be kidding, Haz. This place is for babies!” Louis whisper shouts with a dramatic flick of his wrist, his arm sweeping through the frosty air to encompass their surroundings. 

Harry rolls his eyes affectionately, hopelessly endeared by Louis’ ambitious spirit and enthusiasm to jump into new experiences head first. Harry admired that so much; in fact, it was one of the things about Louis he loved the most. He was always ready to take on the next adventure, and Harry was always thrilled to be his partner in crime. “Lou, you’ve never proper skied before. We have to start small and work our way up.” 

Louis cocks his head to the side, smirking at Harry in a way that makes him feel so incredibly weak. “Can we at least make it a tiny bit interesting?” 

Harry arches a brow for effect, pursing his lips and shaking his head minutely as he chuckles at Louis’ eagerness. “I’m surely going to regret asking this, but how would you suggest we do that?” He teases. 

“I don’t know…” Louis replies, messing with his beanie then dropping his hands to his sides with an audible smack. “Have a race or summat?” 

“A race?” 

“Yes, Curly, a race.” 

“ _You_ want to race _me_?” Harry gasps in disbelief, placing his hand on his chest with faux haughtiness in a playful attempt to intimidate Louis. 

“You’ve got the general concept, yes.” Louis retorts sassily, eyes glittering with mischief when he tilts his chin down to regard Harry over the top of his aviators; playing right along. “What’s wrong, Styles, you scared of a little competition?” 

“Lou,” Harry ribs “I’ve been skiing practically as long as I’ve been walking.” 

“Yes, and look how rubbish you are at that!” Louis points out teasingly, crossing his arms over his chest with a smug expression as if he’s daring Harry to argue. He’s a little shit, honestly, and Harry is completely enraptured by him. “You and your Bambi legs can barely take two steps without tripping over thin air. I don’t think adding snow and ice to the equation is going to tip the scales much in your favour, love. I like my chances.” 

Harry scoffs, affronted. “Have it your way, Lou, but when you’re having a strop because you’ve lost, you can’t say I didn’t try to warn you.” 

“Ooh trash talk. Bring it on, Styles!” Louis waggles his eyebrows ridiculously. Harry really shouldn’t find it so cute. He’s hopeless honestly. There should be a support group for trying to resist Louis Tomlinson’s charms. The whole bloody world would probably be in attendance. 

“Count of three then?” He suggests. 

Louis nods his agreement and the two of them get into position, toeing an invisible starting line on the edge of the slope. 

“One…” 

“Two…” 

Before they get to three, Harry lunges sideways and shoves Louis, knocking him backwards onto his bum, then he takes off down the hill with a cackle worthy of a Disney villain. 

“Oi!” Louis sputters as he tries to right himself. Harry looks over his shoulder, still howling with laughter, and watches as Louis manages to scramble to his feet, looking adorably outraged. “You cheeky fucking minx!” He calls out, entirely too loud for the family friendly atmosphere as he pushes off and starts gliding down the slope after Harry. “Your skinny little arse better move it, Styles. If I catch up to you, you are in _so_ much trouble!” 

Harry only laughs harder, looking over his shoulder once more to stick his tongue out at Louis. It’s a mistake, because when he turns his head back around, there are a couple kids in his path. He narrowly avoids colliding with them, weaving to the left just in the nick of time, but his setback provides Louis with the momentum he needs to catch up and now he’s gaining on Harry. The hill is leveling out, they’re nearly at the bottom, and Harry can practically feel Louis’ breath on his neck he’s so close behind him. 

Suddenly, all the air is ripped from Harry’s lungs and he’s tumbling through the snow. The world seems to shift on its axis and when he opens his eyes, there’s nothing but blue – the deep, rich blue of the cloudless sky, and the soft beryl blue of Louis’ eyes. Because Louis is hovering over him, the full weight of his body resting on top of Harry’s and pinning him to the frozen earth. Before he has much of a chance to process this rather thrilling turn of events, Louis’ face lights up with a very familiar, very dangerous expression – a mischievous, almost predatory smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

“Lou--” Harry begins cautiously, trying to affect a warning tone to his voice, but even he can hear the amusement bleeding through. It’s no use anyway, he knows exactly where this is going, and he’s completely powerless to stop it. 

Louis’ fingers dig into his ribs and the soft area just above his hips as he begins tickling him mercilessly. Harry writhes and squirms, but he’s solidly pinned by Louis’ strong thighs; completely at his mercy. He finds he likes the thought of that a lot more than he probably should. 

He’s making sounds he wasn’t even aware his body was capable of producing, sounds he would probably be embarrassed of if his mind could process anything beyond the weight of Louis’ body on top of him and the look of pure, un-tempered joy in his eyes. His shrieks and pleas for mercy pierce the air, rapid-fire giggles being forced from his lips with every twist and jab of Louis’ quick fingers. 

“I’ve got you now, you filthy little cheat!” He crows delightedly. 

Harry is breathless and panting, the effect only compounded by the altitude. “Oh god—Lou! Please, you’ve gotta stop!” 

“Admit that you’re a cheater and that my skiing abilities are far superior.” 

“Never!” 

“Oh yeah? Well, you’ve brought this on yourself then…” Louis reaches down between their bodies and goes for Harry’s weak spot – his thighs. 

It’s enough to jolt Harry into action and he finally releases his grip on the ski poles he’s still clutching in his hands and starts shoving at Louis’ shoulders in an attempt to reverse their positions and get the upper hand. There’s an audible hitch in Harry’s breath when Louis catches his wrists and pins them to the ground above his head. For a moment, it feels like the world stops spinning, but Harry’s head seems to have picked up the slack, swept away by a tide of dizzying desire. 

Louis clicks his tongue at him disapprovingly, shaking his head from side to side with a wicked smirk. “I don’t think so, babe.” 

Louis is looming over him, and Harry’s head is still spinning. The air he needs to breathe is caught somewhere between his lungs and his throat, and even through all the layers of clothing his skin is burning where Louis’ hands are clamped around his wrists. He thinks he might even see a trace of that fire in Louis’ eyes as he looks down at him, but— 

“Ahem.” 

Harry whips his head around so quickly he nearly gives himself whiplash, which does absolutely nothing to help relieve the effects of his lust-driven vertigo. Louis’ head snaps up as well, and there’s a woman, with two giggling little girls standing next to her, staring down at them with a stern expression. She arches a brow pointedly, disapproval colouring her every facial feature. 

“Sorry!” Harry rushes out. “Sorry, we were just—” 

“On our honeymoon.” Louis cuts in smoothly, his voice so sickly sweet it’s practically dripping. “I didn’t want to leave the resort, but _this one_ …” He nods down at Harry, eyes so full of mischief that Harry can barely contain his snort. He bites down on his lip to keep his smile from splitting his face. “…insisted that we didn’t come all the way to Switzerland just to stay in our suite all day.” Louis cups his hand around his mouth like he’s about to tell Harry a secret, but doesn’t decrease the volume of his voice in the slightest so the woman can clearly still hear what he says. “ ‘Fraid we’ll have to agree to disagree on that one, love.” 

Louis winks and Harry bites his lip harder. The woman looks as displeased as ever, but she doesn’t say anything, just tosses her hair over her shoulder with a huff and walks away, pulling the two little girls behind her, both of them sill giggling. 

Louis looks down at Harry with an impish grin, and then they’re bursting out laughing before the woman is even out of earshot. 

“Oh my god! Louis!” 

“What? She deserved it! Did you see the way she was looking at us? We were having a bloody tickle fight, it’s not like we were dry humping or summat.” 

Harry just shakes his head fondly and tries his best not to think too carefully about Louis’ words. An untimely stiffy is just about the last thing he needs with Louis still spread out on top of him gripping his wrists. That might be a bit hard to explain. (Ha! _Hard_...yeah it would definitely be hard.) 

“How do you like me now, Mr _._ _I’ve been skiing as long as I’ve been walking_?” Louis taunts with a victorious grin, then promptly leans down and licks Harry’s nose. 

*

They spend the rest of the day on the slopes, broadening their horizons as they venture away from Wolli’s Park and take the lift up to the Gornergrat pistes. Harry knows from experience that some of the runs can be a challenge for beginners, but Louis is an absolute champ. The weather is another component that can sometimes ruin a promising day on the slopes with harsh wind causing poor visibility on the trails, but they’ve been blessed with a perfect day, cold but bright and clear. 

They time it so that they’re riding the chairlift just as the sun is starting to set, and Harry feels like he is on top of the world, tucked into Louis’ side with his head resting on his shoulder and a stunning panoramic view before them, the bold pyramid of the Matterhorn standing out in sharp relief from the blushing sky as the sun sinks into the horizon. 

It’s just gone nine by the time they return to the chalet, having stopped off for dinner at one of the quaint little restaurants on Zermatt’s main street - gorging themselves on fondue and washing it down with a few pints before they took the train back to Adalheid. Dinner had been delicious, the company even better, and now as they stumble through the door together, Harry is feeling pleasantly warm and sated. His belly is full, he’s got a pleasant buzz lingering from the pints, and after spending most of the day completely alone with Louis, he’s never felt happier. His limbs are heavy with exhaustion, and his muscles are absolutely screaming at him after spending so much time on the slopes, but it’s a feeling he would gladly suffer from again and again if all his days turned out to be like this one. 

Louis looks to be in a similar state, clearly just as exhausted, but still riding an adrenaline high from the events of the day. He looks gorgeous, as cheerful and lovely as ever with a bright flush high on his cheeks from a combination of sun exposure and his buzz from the alcohol, giving his skin a golden apricot hue. His hair is ruffled and his lips are slightly chapped both thanks to the light wind, and his blue eyes have never looked clearer, the light reflecting in his irises and causing shadows to dance across the tops of his cheekbones from his wispy lashes. 

According to a note left on the dining table, Anne and Robin are down at the resort spending time with family before everyone heads back home the next day, so Harry and Louis have the place to themselves. After they’ve changed out of their ski attire and into joggers and cosy jumpers, Harry suggests they pick out a film to watch since it’s still pretty early to turn in but they are both too worn out to do much of anything else. Louis agrees easily, following Harry into the spare bedroom to pick out a film. As soon as they enter the room, Louis belly flops onto the bed with an _oof_ , his limbs haphazardly spread out from his body in every direction. Harry giggles at his antics, kneeling down to rifle through his family’s film collection on the bottom half of the bookcase.

Louis groans with his face shoved into the mattress. “Ugh, I’m knackered.” He complains. “Who knew skiing was such hard work? It always looked so easy on the telly. I feel sore in places I didn’t even know I had muscles. Everything hurts. I think I’m dying.” 

Harry shakes his head fondly, his fingers slipping over the DVD cases as he peruses the titles. “So dramatic, Lou.” 

“I’m serious! Even my bloody _fingers_ are sore. How is that even possible?” 

Harry bites his lip, an idea forming in his mind that he’s not sure if he should voice out loud, as much as he wants to. Maybe it’s the lingering buzz from the beer or maybe he’s just still got his head in the clouds after spending such a lovely day with his favourite person, but whatever the source, he drums up enough courage to get the words past his lips. 

“I could, erm…I could give you a massage?” His traitorous voice cracks on the last bit, making it sound more like a question. “If you want.” He tacks on hurriedly, already feeling vulnerable for suggesting it. 

Louis lifts his head off the mattress, craning his neck to look over his shoulder at Harry with a cheeky grin on his face. 

“You want to massage my fingers? Do you think that would help?” He teases playfully. 

Harry huffs out a laugh. “No, you menace. I meant, like, your back and shoulders and stuff.” (Harry sincerely hopes Louis doesn’t make him elaborate on the “and stuff” bit, and what that might entail.) 

“Oh god, _please_. That would be amazing, and I promise to return the favour, babe. I know you must be sore too.”

Apparently not needing any more convincing, Louis promptly rises to his knees and strips off his jumper by grasping the material between his shoulder blades and pulling it over his head like it’s absolutely nothing, like that particular move didn’t just completely end Harry’s entire world as he knows it. He tosses his jumper onto the bed beside him, and Harry feels his palms start to sweat as he watches the muscles of Louis’ back ripple beneath his golden skin. And it’s not as if Harry hasn’t seen him shirtless before. The image from the previous day of him dripping wet in only a towel will most likely be forever burned into Harry’s brain, and even before that he’d been a spectator to enough kick abouts at the park, drooling as Louis pranced around shirtless and unfairly gorgeous, to have memorised every glorious peak and valley of Louis’ abdominal muscles. But it’s not something he’ll grow used to due to prolonged exposure. If anything, Louis only seems to get more beautiful the longer Harry looks at him, and it only gets harder to tear his eyes away.

Louis settles back down on his stomach, glancing over his shoulder at a still stunned Harry, and – with no trace of humour to his tone whatsoever – says, “Have at me, love,” effectively ending Harry’s world once again.

Harry whines a little and tries to cover it with a heavy sigh because _really, how many times can the world end before it's actually bloody over?!_ Someone needs to put him out of his misery here. He knows he can't take much more, but he knows with just as much certainty that Louis is going to keep giving it to him anyway, completely oblivious to the effect that his words have on Harry’s poor, fragile, little heart.

With a harsh swallow, Harry ignores the fact that his knees seem to have turned to proper jelly and wills his legs to function enough for him to be able to get to his feet. Surprisingly, he manages, albeit a bit shakily, but he’s not in any position to be choosy, so he takes it for the small victory that it is and crosses to the bed, mentally giving himself a pep talk the whole way. He nearly jumps out of his skin when his shins hit the mattress, too distracted by the sight of five feet nine inches (or so Louis says) of golden-skinned perfection laid out just for him. _Fuck_. He really should have thought this through more carefully before opening his big mouth. 

Louis gives him a devastatingly soft smile when Harry’s weight dips the bed as he climbs on. Harry returns the smile with one of his own, hoping desperately it doesn’t come across as manic as he feels. 

“I’m just gonna…yeah.” Is the lame explanation he offers as he scoots across the mattress and swings one of his legs over so he’s straddling the back of Louis’ thighs. _Holy fucking shit._ He really, _really_ did not think this through. 

He wipes his slick palms nervously on his jumper, praying that the violent tremors running through his hands will go unnoticed by Louis when he’s touching his skin. Squeezing his eyes shut and mentally steeling himself, he leans forward and rests his hands atop Louis’ shoulders. As soon as his fingers come into contact with Louis’ skin, Louis lets out a sigh of contentment. It gives Harry the courage to crack on, so he takes a deep breath and just goes for it, concentrating all his energy on the task at hand and making Louis feel good. 

He works his hands over Louis’ shoulders, the golden skin taut and smooth beneath his touch as he diligently kneads at the knots and digs his fingers into Louis’ warm flesh. He works at a particularly stubborn knot at the juncture of Louis’ neck and shoulder and as it loosens beneath the ministration of his fingers, Louis lets out the breathiest little whimper that sends Harry’s head reeling. After that, it’s almost like some sort of dam has been broken. Every movement of his hands is punching these pornographic sounding moans out of Louis; little _ah ah ahs_ that he is obviously trying to stifle, if the way he is gnawing at his lip and the deep furrow between his brows are anything to go by. But his attempts to get himself under control somehow backfire and only manage to make him sound even more obscene, even more desperate. 

It’s so obscene that Harry, who usually keeps his fantasies about Louis on a very short leash, can’t even blame himself for the way his mind wanders to Louis making those same sounds in a different context - namely with Harry’s head between his thighs. _Shit_. Turns out, imagining _that_ \- even for just a split second - is a huge mistake because now Harry is legitimately sweating. At this point, his internal dialogue has devolved into a constant chorus of _don’t get hard, don’t get hard, don’t get hard_. 

“Anywhere in particular that you’re feeling especially sore?” He asks thickly, wincing at the husky timbre of his own voice. 

 _God_ , he sounds fucked out, and he’s not even the one being massaged. 

“Yeah, erm. My lower back, maybe?” Louis says it like a question, his breath hitching when Harry nods and runs his hands down the length of his spine. 

He starts at the dip of Louis’ waist, but the sound of Louis’ voice stops him after only a few seconds. “Could you maybe…” He trails off, back to biting his lip. “Maybe a little lower?” 

Harry gulps but complies and slides his hands to the back of Louis’ hips, gripping them tightly and starting to work him over again. He’s momentarily distracted by how _big_ his hands look on Louis’ body, and how inexplicably hot that little revelation is. It’s not as if he hasn’t noticed their size difference before, but _well_ , it’s quite different seeing his hands on Louis’ bare skin. And _bloody hell_ , his arse is _right there_ , Harry’s wrists unintentionally grazing over the swell of it as he massages Louis’ hips. It’s _right there_ , and Harry can’t stop himself from noticing that the shape and size of it would fit perfectly into his hands. 

“ _Fuck_.” Louis pants, arching his back off the bed and pushing himself into Harry’s hands, almost like he’s reading his mind (which is a terrifying thought considering what Harry had been thinking). 

“Lou?” Harry whispers uncertainly, afraid to move, to breathe, to do much of anything really. 

“I think I’m gonna have a shower.” Louis grits out, abruptly rolling out from under Harry, away from his hands, and off the bed completely. ”Probably would help to loosen my muscles more.” He explains lamely, his back still to Harry. He grabs his jumper, but doesn’t make a move to put it back on. 

“Right. Yeah, erm, we could also get in the hot tub if you want. Would probably feel nice.” Harry offers. 

“Yeah. Yeah, sounds good.” Louis nods, standing up and heading for the bathroom. “Then I could do you in there.” He freezes when he realises what he’s just said, turning to face Harry with a horrified expression and rushing to correct himself, his jumper still clutched tightly in front of him. “Your shoulders, I mean. Or your back. Whatever—or, erm, wherever you’re tender.” 

“No, I-I erm,” Harry chuckles nervously, scratching at the nape of his neck, “I knew what you meant.” 

“Right. Good. I’m just going to, erm—” Louis thumbs over his shoulder in the direction of bathroom. 

“I’ll just change and wait for you outside, then?” 

“Won’t be long!” Louis calls, already closing the door to the en suite behind him. 

“Okay, then.” Harry whispers to himself, shaking his head dazedly like that will somehow magically sort out his jumbled thoughts. “Get it together, Styles.” 

He pads out of the bedroom and crosses the lounge to the spiral staircase that winds up to the loft. He rifles through his bag until his fingers close around the material of his bathing suit, yanking it free from the confines of his duffle. He then slips off his joggers and pants in favour of stepping into the deep jade green trunks. Once he’s pulled them up to his hips, he shucks his jumper over his head and sets off back down the staircase, making a pit stop at the linen cupboard to grab some towels on his way outside. 

The cold air hits his bare skin like a brick wall, an immediate shock to his system, and he curses under his breath as he picks his way carefully across the icy deck, moving as quickly as he can without putting himself in danger of slipping on the slick surface. He rounds the corner and climbs up onto the raised platform that surrounds the hot tub, discarding the towels unceremoniously and pulling back the cover with shaking hands. He turns the jets on and sinks into the deliciously warm water, sighing immediately in contentment. He doesn’t have to wait long for Louis to join him, in fact, he’s only just tipped his head back against the edge of the tub to look up at the night sky when Louis comes barreling around the corner - at a speed _way_ too fast to be considered safe - cursing up a blue streak, his accent thick and adorably sloppy around the expletives. 

“Shit, shit shit!” He chants, practically diving into the water in his haste to warm up. “It’s bloody freezing!” 

Harry laughs at his totally blissed-out expression and dramatic moan when he finally sinks below the surface. 

“What are you laughing at, Curly?” Louis complains, giving Harry a half-hearted splash. 

“Nothing. Just—nice, innit?” 

“Nice indeed.” Louis agrees. “I don’t think I’m ever leaving. Gonna have to drag me out, Haz.” 

Harry giggles, humming contentedly as he tilts his head back once more. “Just look at all the stars, Lou. Can’t ever see them like this in London.” 

Louis mirrors Harry’s reclined position, dropping his head back to look up at the night sky. “Mm.” He murmurs his assent “Beautiful.” 

A peaceful silence stretches out between them, the only sound coming from the soothing hum of the jets, the water fizzing and bubbling around them as they stare up at the cosmos. The sheer number of stars visible makes the sky appear much more vast than it does back home in London where they’re always hidden behind a thick veil of smog. Here, the views are endless - stardust and swirling galaxies stretching out in every direction as far as the eye can see. 

It’s breathtaking, but pales in comparison to the beauty of Louis’ eyes - bright and clear and right there for Harry to gaze into. They’re so expressive, the depth of them staggering and incomprehensible, and Harry thinks there are entire universes contained within those irises. They certainly hold Harry’s whole world. 

He’s lulled into a pleasantly loose state, his earlier distress completely forgotten, by the melodic fizz of the bubbles, the astonishing beauty of the view, and the comfort of knowing he’s sharing it all with the one person he loves most in the world. 

Louis breaks into his trance by stretching one of his legs across the length of the hot tub and poking Harry’s thigh with his big toe beneath the water. “Come over here, babe. Think I owe you a back rub.” 

Just like that Harry’s heart goes from zero to sixty in .02 seconds flat. A little thrill zips up his spine at Louis’ words, warmth seeping out into every corner of his body, and he has to close his eyes for a brief moment to steady himself before he can make his way over to Louis. Louis resituates himself in the corner of the hot tub, drawing his knees up and shifting back on the bench so there’s enough room for Harry to sit in front of him. Harry timidly positions himself between Louis’ spread thighs with his back to Louis’ chest. 

“Lean back, love.” Louis says softly. “Let me take care of you.” 

 _Fuck_. There’s no way Harry’s not going to have a reaction to those words. Thank god Louis can’t see his face right now. Harry does as he’s told, leaning back until his back is completely flush with Louis’ chest. Louis slides his hands up Harry’s biceps to his shoulders, the movement torturously slow and achingly tender, and Harry is already dying. He drops his head back against Louis’ shoulder, closing his eyes and giving himself over to the sensation of Louis’ hands on his body. 

Unfortunately, now Louis’ lips are right next to his ear, and not only can Harry feel the exhalations of Louis’ breath ghosting over his skin, but he can also hear the slightly labored quality to his breathing from the effort he’s putting forth to work out the tension in Harry’s shoulders, and _fuck_ , it’s really turning Harry on. He’s trying so hard to control himself, but he feels like he’s spiraling, and he can’t hold back his soft little moans when it feels this good to have Louis touching him. He puts forth a noble effort, but ultimately ends up forfeiting the battle he’s been fighting against his erection. It was inevitable, he supposes, because he’s fairly certain he’s never been this hard in his entire life, and it only gets worse when Louis’ lips brush over the shell of his ear and he whispers, “That feel good, love?” 

Even as overwhelmed as he is, Harry nearly scoffs because ‘good’ is a wholly inadequate word to describe what he is currently feeling. Amazing. Incredible. Earth-shattering. Life-ruining. Those are much more appropriate adjectives for how it feels to have Louis’ hands on his body. Now that he knows how it feels to be touched by him like this, he’s not sure how he’s meant to go back to living without it. This entire trip has both spoiled him and utterly wrecked him in equal measure. 

After what was probably way too long of a pause, in which Harry died approximately a thousand deaths, he manages to squeak out, “Yeah, Lou. So good,” in response. “Thank you.” He adds on belatedly, his voice slightly more controlled. 

Louis hums and gives Harry’s shoulders a squeeze. “Thank _you_ , Harry. This trip has been absolutely incredible. I honestly can’t remember the last time I’ve had this much fun, which is saying something because you know the things we get up to with the lads when we’re back at uni. It’s always a good time when the five of us are together, but I don’t know, it’s been really nice to have some time just the two of us. I meant what I said last night, Haz. We may not have known each other for very long in the grand scheme of things, but you really are my favourite person. I love being here with you.” 

There really isn’t any way to describe what hearing Louis say those words does to Harry’s heart. He’s given up on the massage, and now his arms are just wrapped around Harry’s shoulders, pulling him tightly back to his chest and holding him there. Harry relaxes into his embrace, feeling that familiar sensation of being on the precipice of something too vast to comprehend and being equal parts exhilarated and terrified. 

 _I love you_ , he thinks, the words clawing their way up his throat and begging him to set them free by allowing them past the seal of his lips. “I love being here with you too.” He says instead, his confession hidden in plain sight amongst the other words of his response. 

Louis hums and tilts his head to the side, his arms tightening around Harry’s shoulders as he presses his cheek into the curls at the crown of his head. They stay like that for an unquantifiable amount of time, bodies pressed close and Harry’s heart beating wildly in his chest. In the stillness, the sound of it is deafening in Harry’s ears, and he wonders if Louis can hear it too. Can he hear the way Harry’s body is calling to him, how his name seems to ring out in the silence between beats? Does he know he’s the one it’s beating for? 

Eventually, they can’t put off getting out of the hot tub and what’s sure to be a very unpleasant journey across the deck to get back inside any longer. So, together they squeal and shriek and bump into each other as they climb out and make a run for it. 

Once inside, they dry off more thoroughly and bundle up in thermals and thick jumpers. Harry crawls into bed and to his surprise Louis follows after him, sleepily murmuring something about being too sore and knackered to attempt climbing the ladder to the top bunk. There are three other bottom bunks he could sleep on, but Harry chooses not to point that out. 

Louis snuggles in behind him for the third time in as many days, and Harry silently begs his still frantically beating heart to calm down, and tries with all his might not to dwell on how natural it feels for the two of them to end another day cuddled up in bed like this. It’s a feeling he thinks he could very well be getting used to, and that’s a dangerous thought. 

With his mind racing and his insides churning, Harry shuffles closer to Louis, breathes in the heavenly scent of his skin, and waits for sleep to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! We're halfway through, lovelies! Next update will skip ahead four years, and will also properly introduce the other three boys into the story. Lots of fun stuff ahead, so I do hope you'll stick around :)
> 
> I've been having a bit of trouble focusing lately, and it had me feeling a little discouraged this past week or so as I worked on this chapter. I can't tell you how much it means to me to know there are people willing to follow this story whilst it's still being written, seriously, thank you so much. The greatest motivation for me is reading comments, and I'm forever grateful to those who take the time to grace any of my works with their kind words.
> 
> On an entirely unrelated note, I'm thinking of starting a support group for writers with commitment issues when it comes to writing fic, because I counted the number of WIPs I currently have, and you guys, it is a frighteningly high number. We're talking double digits. Yikes!


	4. I have faith in what I see, now I know I have met an angel in person

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four years later. Harry has a plan to finally tell Louis how he feels. OT5 go on their annual lads holiday in Switzerland. Harry and Louis have a moment in the hot tub.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone still there? 
> 
> Bless you if you are, I know I’ve done a horrid job at updating this in a timely manner. This is my first WIP that I’m posting as I go and whilst I anticipated it being a challenge (one I thought would be good for my growth as a writer) I didn’t exactly anticipate it being this much of a challenge. Oops! 
> 
> Sometimes with writing the words come effortlessly and the piece you're working on practically writes itself, and other times you have to fight tooth and nail for every word. I experienced both ends of the spectrum whilst working on this chapter, and I got so frustrated with the bits I was struggling with that I had to step away and write something else to clear my head. I can't say I regret it, because I'm quite happy with the little one-shot I got as a result, but I am sorry to keep you hanging so long.
> 
> My sincerest thanks to anyone who has stuck with me thus far, you are all gems! This is the longest chapter yet, so hopefully that somewhat makes up for the lengthy gap between updates.
> 
> A couple quick notes for this chapter: There is a short flashback scene that is indicated with italics, but just in case it isn’t made clear enough in context, that’s what’s going on there :). 
> 
> Secondly, this chapter contains a brief scene of recreational drug use towards the end when the boys share a couple joints. I think it’s pretty mild, but I thought I’d point it out in case that bothers anyone. 
> 
> I hope this was worth the wait and that you all enjoy! Xx

  **Four Years Later**  

Harry is at his mum’s house back in Holmes Chapel – sprawled out on his stomach on his narrow childhood bed, guitar pick tucked between his lips and brows furrowed in concentration as he taps the pen in his hand against the well-worn page of his journal. It’s finally finished, the song that’s been floating around in his head in some form or another for the past four years. The lyrics have been solidified, the melody fine-tuned, and a sense of pride settles over Harry as he stares down at the product of his hard work. 

 _Four years._  

Four years he’s been writing this song for Louis, and here it is, the contents of his heart drafted with ink on paper and ready to be presented to the boy he loves. It’s everything he wants to say, every feeling he’s been too frightened to voice aloud. Words have always come a little easier for Harry when they’re accompanied by notes and melodies. He’s hid countless truths beneath the chords of a song, has woven his thoughts and feelings into lyrics that allowed him to anonymously declare his love to Louis without actually having to put his heart on the line. This time, he won’t afford himself that familiar protection, it’s time to strip away all the layers and reveal the truth beneath. He’s still going to let the music do most of the talking for him, but there will be no more hiding behind his guitar or his cleverly disguised lyrics. This time, Louis will know without a shadow of a doubt that these words Harry has poured his heart and soul into, and this melody he has crafted so carefully, are all for him. 

Harry closes his journal with a small, satisfied grin and a bud of hope blossoming in his chest. He strokes his hand lovingly across the worn leather cover as he tucks it into his guitar case. He’s just settling his trusty Martin signature acoustic on top when his phone buzzes on his bedside table. He removes the pick from his mouth, closes up his case and falls back against his pillows to read the new message. Excitement fizzes beneath his skin when he sees Louis’ name on the display. 

 **_23 December 2017 (11:24 PM)_ ****_From: Lou:_** _Sooooo…I just watched the lego movie with the twins and one of the characters is called Wyldstyle. Ever consider moonlighting as a stripper? Because I think I’ve found your stage name. You could be Wild Styles ;) :P_  

Harry throws back his head with a loud laugh, always so ridiculously endeared by Louis’ random musings. He feels a blush heat his cheeks when he reads through the message a second time, absently chewing at his knuckle as he goes to type out a response. 

 **23 December 2017 (11:26 PM)** **To: Lou:** HAHAHA!!! Dare I ask why the first thought you have after watching a children’s film with your siblings is about me becoming a stripper?? ;) 

This is a thing between them now. Sexual innuendos and teasing have long been a part of their relationship, but Harry can’t help but notice that the banter between them feels like it’s been amped up as of late. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking. Maybe he’s projecting because he knows how close he is to confessing his true feelings and he’s only imagining the added layer of tension between the two of them that’s always been there in some form or another, but lately seems to be building to a crescendo. He’s probably just imagining it. He really hopes he isn’t. 

 **_23 December 2017 (11:27 PM)_ ****_From: Lou:_** _Don’t read too much into this. All I’m saying is it would be a sick stage name._

 **23 December 2017 (11:28 PM)** **To: Lou:** I can’t believe you are spending Christmas Eve eve having dirty stripper fantasies about me, Lou. 

 **_23 December 2017 (11:28 PM)_ ****_From: Lou:_** _Ummmm…Christmas Eve eve?? How VERY dare you!_  

Harry giggles at the response. It’s all too easy to picture the righteously indignant expression he knows Louis is wearing right now. 

 **23 December 2017 (11:29 PM)** **To: Lou:** Forgive me. I meant the eve of your birth, oh light of my life ;) 

 **_23 December 2017 (11:30 PM)_ ****_From: Lou:_** _Much better Harold_. 

 **23 December 2017 (11:30 PM)** **To: Lou:** Don’t think this means I’ve forgotten about the stripper thing… 

 **23 December 2017 (11:31 PM)** **To: Lou:** Are you going to change my contact name in your phone to Wild Styles?? ;) 

 **23 December 2017 (11:32 PM)** **To: Lou:** Lou… 

 **23 December 2017 (11:32 PM)** **To: Lou:** Louis… 

 **23 December 2017 (11:33 PM)** **To Lou:** LEWIS!!! 

 **_23 December 2017 (11:34 PM)_ ****_From: Lou:_** _Sorry love! Got a bit distracted picturing your clumsy arse trying to pole dance. What a safety hazard that would be…maybe Wild Styles can be your porn star name instead. Less chance of you tripping and permanently injuring yourself._  

Harry knows a deflection when he sees one, and he’s not about to let Louis get away with it. 

 **23 December 2017 (11:35 PM)** **To: Lou:** Louis William Tomlinson, are you telling me you are now picturing me as a porn star?? 

 **_23 December 2017 (11:36 PM)_ ****_From: Lou:_** _SHUT UP! It’s my birthday!!! Plus you’ve got the lips for it babe ;)_  

Heat floods Harry’s entire body. A significant portion of his blood seems to be rushing south as he starts to stiffen up in his joggers. He pulls his lower lip between his thumb and forefinger, feeling extremely pleased with the knowledge that Louis is thinking about his _lips_. Perhaps a bit drunk off that little revelation, Harry cheekily decides to kick it up a notch. 

 **23 December 2017 (11:37 PM)** **To: Lou:** Not for another 23 minutes it’s not ;) 

 **23 December 2017 (11:37 PM)** **To: Lou:** And what?! Does this mean I should make you a sex tape for your birthday gift then? 

 **_23 December 2017 (11:38 PM)_ ****_From: Lou:_** _Definitely. Just of you though. By yourself._  

Harry nearly swallows his tongue reading the reply. _Jesus Christ_. He may have wanted to raise the stakes, but Louis just threw out the trump card. Still reeling, Harry does the only thing he can think of. He plays dumb. 

 **23 December 2017 (11:39 PM)** **To: Lou:** How do I make a sex tape by myself? 

The minutes tick by with no response from Louis, and Harry grows worried that they’ve taken their little game too far. For all their playful banter and tactile tendencies, it’s never been more than innocent flirtation between them. Harry prides himself on not allowing his thoughts to be ruled by his dick, and as difficult as it can sometimes be, he tries not to give in to his fantasies about Louis. It doesn’t feel right to do so when, for all Harry knows, Louis only thinks of him as a mate. Still, he’d be lying if he said that images of Louis’ gorgeous face or his sinful body hadn’t stubbornly pushed to the forefront of his mind from time to time when he was having a wank, but he tried not to make a habit out of it. Finally, his phone vibrates in his hand with another text. 

 **_23 December 2017 (11:48 PM)_ ****_From: Lou:_** _Sorry love. Gotta go! Mum needs help to finish wrapping the girls’ Xmas gifts!_  

Harry frowns down at the screen. It sounds like an excuse. He decides not to dwell too much on it, over-analysing things has never done him any good. He waits until midnight and sends Louis a text wishing him happy birthday just as he’s done every year for the past four years. 

 **24 December 2017 (12:00 AM)** **To: Lou:** Happy 23rd Birthday, Lou!!! I hope this next year brings you all good things because you deserve the world. You are the best person I know and I couldn’t imagine my life without you in it. We’ll celebrate it proper next week when I see you! Xx. 

 **_24 December 2017 (12:01 AM)_ ****_From: Lou:_ **_Thanks babe! Can’t wait for Switzerland!!! I miss you xxx_  

 **24 December 2017 (12:02 AM)** **To: Lou:** I miss you too. 

Feeling emboldened by Louis’ enthusiastic response, he can’t resist one last cheeky little jab. 

 **24 December 2017 (12:02 AM)** **To: Lou:** Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a sex tape to film ;)

 **_24 December 2017 (12:03 AM)_ ****_From: Lou:_** _I hate you_. 

 **24 December 2017 (12:04 AM)** **To: Lou:** Rude! No sex tape for you :P 

 **_24 December 2017 (12:04 AM)_ ****_From: Lou:_** _Harold…_

 **24 December 2017 (12:05 AM)** **To: Lou:** Goodnight birthday boy ;) 

 **_24 December 2017 (12:05 AM)_ ****_From: Lou:_** _Merry Christmas ya filthy animal! Xx_  

Still beaming, Harry opens a new group chat and adds Niall, Zayn, and Liam to the list of recipients, checking at least three times that he didn’t accidentally add Louis as well from sheer force of habit, and types out a message to the other three lads. 

 **24 December 2017 (12:07 AM)** **To: Nialler, Payno, Z:** I think I’m finally ready. I’m going to tell Louis how I feel about him. 

Niall responds first with a slew of nonsensical emojis and exclamation points that make Harry smile to himself in the dim light of his old room. Zayn’s and Liam’s responses come in simultaneously, the two of them always having been weirdly, inexplicably in sync. 

 **_24 December 2017 (12:11 AM)_ ****_From: Z:_ **_About fucking time. Proud of you, mate._  

 **_24 December 2017 (12:11 AM)_ ****_From: Payno:_** _When?_  

Harry chuckles quietly. That’s Liam, practical and to the point as always. 

 **24 December 2017 (12:12 AM)** **To: Nialler, Payno, Z:** When we go to Switzerland for New Year’s. 

Another text from Liam pops up almost immediately. 

 **_24 December 2017 (12:12 AM)_ ****_From: Payno:_ **_Happy 4U bro!!!_  

 **_24 December 2017 (12:13 AM)_ ****_From: Nialler:_** [tongue emoji] [peach emoji] _Get in!!!_  

The four of them chat for a bit longer about their upcoming holiday and what they've all been getting up to, before bidding each other good night. Harry falls asleep with a smile on his face, a healthy dose of hope in his heart, and images of blue eyes, sharp bone structure, and petal pink lips swirling in his head. His dreams are dominated by the sound of soft, raspy laughter and whispered love confessions, and visions of gentle kisses and hands tangled together against a backdrop of sheets as white and pure as freshly fallen snow.

Only six more days. 

*

Harry groans and rolls over in bed, shoving his pillow over his head in hopes that it will drown out the blaring noise of the alarm emanating from his iphone where it rests on his bedside table. He really couldn’t have chosen a more grating tone to use for his early morning wake up call, but he supposes that’s the point, otherwise he wouldn’t have much motivation to get out of bed at the arse crack of dawn. He’s about to reach over and hit snooze, in order to give himself a few more minutes of blessed sleep, when he realises he has an entirely different motivation to get out of bed this particular morning. Today is the day he is meant to leave for his annual lad’s holiday with his four best mates in Switzerland. 

Ever since Harry brought Louis to Adalheid for Gemma’s wedding back in their first year of university, the other lads had been begging to visit as well. Since then, it became a tradition amongst his group of friends. When they were all still at uni, they would make the trip a couple times a year, usually once over New Year’s, once over Easter hols, and once in the summer, but now that they had all graduated, it was more difficult to get all of them together for multiple visits, considering they had five different schedules to accommodate. 

The solution was that they would all clear their calendars of any other commitments and spend every New Year’s together skiing, snowboarding, and generally just relaxing and spending time together. 

They were a bit spread out these days, meaning they weren’t able to all be together as much as they had become accustomed to at uni, and their annual lad’s holiday had become something of a cherished tradition for the lot of them. Niall was constantly traveling as he had landed a gig as a guitar tech for an up-and-coming singer/songwriter called Ingrid. Zayn had moved to Amsterdam with his model girlfriend after graduation. He used some of the money he had inherited when his Granddad passed away a few years prior to become partial owner of a small art gallery there, and even did some modeling himself on occasion (for which Louis ribbed him mercilessly any chance he got). Liam accepted a position teaching and coaching football at a prestigious school in Exeter. 

Louis, thankfully, remained in London where he had landed a job at BBC Radio One, so Harry didn’t have to miss him like he did the other boys. He didn’t know what he would have done if Louis would have taken a job outside of London. Probably something ridiculous and desperate like follow him wherever he ended up regardless of his own job prospects. As it was, Harry didn’t have to wonder, because he had also managed to find a job in the city he loved so much. He worked for a small music label called _Side Door Records_ , and he and Louis had recently moved into their very own flat together. It was tiny and shitty, but it was _theirs_. 

The day they moved in, Niall had been in Glasgow on tour with Ingrid so he hadn’t been able to make it down, but Liam and Zayn had both come for the weekend to help Harry and Louis settle into their new flat. Louis still had to work part of the day on Saturday whilst Harry, Zayn, and Liam had moved the majority of their stuff. Louis had come home to find the three boys spread out amongst an array of boxes on the kitchen floor, completely exhausted from the day’s work, and offered to go pick up pizza for dinner.  

 _“Don’t forget—” Harry starts only to be cut off by Louis._

_“Light sauce, extra cheese. Yes, I know what you like, babe.” He chuckles fondly, standing over Harry’s prone figure and playfully nudging his hip with the toe of his trainer. He promises to stop off for some beer whilst he’s out, then gathers up his keys and wallet and dashes back out the door to go pick up their dinner._

_“That was—” Zayn muses thoughtfully from Harry’s left._

_“Disgustingly domestic.” Niall’s lilting voice finishes, sounding slightly tinny through the speakers of Harry’s phone where they have been face-timing the Irish boy and giving him a tour of the new flat, wanting to include him in the process as much as they possibly can from four hundred miles away._

_Harry laughs, his cheeks tingling with a pleased yet slightly embarrassed flush. “You guys should have seen the estate agent who showed us this place. She wouldn’t believe us when we told her we weren’t a couple. She genuinely thought we were in a relationship.”_

_“But you are, though.” Liam interjects, his brows knit together like he’s pondering how to achieve world peace instead of discussing the nature of the relationship between two of his mates. “Just without the label, and, like, the sex.” Abruptly, Liam’s eyes go comically round and he gasps, “Wait a minute! You guys don’t have sex, right?”_

_Zayn lets out a noise that’s somewhere between choking and snorting, and Niall laughs raucously, banging his fist on something out of the frame that Harry can’t see._

_Harry simply rolls his eyes and scrubs a hand down his face. “No, Liam we do not have sex.” He groans from behind his fingers._

_“Are you sure?” Liam asks tentatively, inciting another round of hysterics from Niall._

_Harry scowls petulantly. “Yes, I think that’s something I’d probably remember.”_

_Zayn sucks his lower lip into his mouth, glancing over at Harry with a contemplative look in his kind, soulful eyes. “Listen, Haz, we all know you love him. Why don’t you just tell him?”_

_Harry knows Zayn’s only trying to help, but he says it so_ easily, _like it’d be the simplest thing in the world for Harry to tell Louis how he feels, when in reality it’s so much more complicated than that._

 _Harry huffs and rakes both hands through his curls in frustration. “I’ll tell him when the time is right.”_

_At that, Niall laughs_ again _– the bastard. “You’ve been saying that for four years, Haz. Time to change the record, mate.”_  

It’s been just over six months that he and Louis have been living together now and Harry still hasn’t gotten over how blissfully domestic it all is. The two of them take weekly trips to the shops for groceries, and Harry cooks them dinner almost every night, after which Louis always insists on doing the washing up ( _I can’t fucking cook, I have to bring something to the table, Harold! Can’t have you replacing me with a more capable flat mate, now can I?_ ) Harry even gets to do Louis’ laundry from time to time, which he realises is probably an absurd thing to be excited about, but he’s always just really enjoyed taking care of Louis. 

He’s never forgotten what Louis said to him the day of Gemma’s wedding when Harry had pressed his trousers for him and Louis had told him what a good little spouse he’d make. So he takes advantage of their new living situation and all the opportunities it presents him with to show Louis just how right he had been. Louis is so hardworking and selfless; he’s spent his entire life helping out his mum, caring for his siblings, and putting everyone else’s needs before his own, so it’s Harry’s absolute pleasure to get to take care of him from time to time. Truthfully, nothing makes him happier. A stupidly smitten smile creeps over his face just thinking about it. 

His mood sufficiently lifted, Harry gets out of bed, heading to the shower with a spring in his step as he thinks of getting to spend the next several days with his best mates. He has a long day of travel ahead of him, but the boys won’t be arriving until various times tomorrow. Louis, Liam, and Zayn are all taking the train overnight and should arrive within a few hours of each other in the morning. Niall will turn up some time in the early afternoon. He’s flying in to Geneva from Ireland, where he has been home visiting his family for Christmas, and then taking the train to Adalheid from there. Harry decided to drive instead of taking the train, so that they would have access to a vehicle in case they wanted to take any day trips to one of the larger neighbouring towns or perhaps drive across the border into Italy for dinner one night, and also to haul the truly massive amount of groceries he was bringing. He had popped down to the shops a few days prior to amass enough food to last them through their holiday and withstand the bottomless pit otherwise known as Niall Horan. 

Whilst shopping, he face-timed with Louis who was back in Doncaster with his family for Christmas. Even with roughly two hundred miles separating them, Louis still managed to convince Harry to load up the trolley with a what he deemed a proportionate amount of sweets and crisps to balance out the “healthy shit” (as he so affectionately referred to anything that wasn’t fried or covered in ungodly amounts of salt, butter, and/or sugar) Harry insisted on buying. 

All in all, it wasn’t entirely unlike their weekly shopping excursions when Louis was physically present to participate. He still complained that Harry took too long selecting the produce, and still made cheeky, suggestive comments about certain phallic-looking fruits and vegetables, causing Harry to blush right in the middle of Tesco. The only difference, really, was a distinctive lack of shenanigans; as in no trolley races, no impromptu wrestling matches in the frozen foods aisle when Louis would try to unceremoniously shove Harry into one of the freezers despite being nearly half his size, and when Harry made it to the till at the end, everything he had procured was still magically in the trolley as opposed to how when Louis was with him, he sometimes liked to randomly put things back just to see if Harry would notice. 

He’s smiling like a loon again just thinking about it as he steps out of the shower and returns to his room to get dressed. It’s a fairly common occurrence when thinking about one blue-eyed, trouble-making best mate. _The Louis Effect_ , he calls it, and he’s been powerless against it for four years now. 

Half hour later, Harry’s climbing into a packed to the gills Audi SUV (borrowed from his mum) ready to hit the road, smile still firmly fixed on his face.   

* 

It’s nearly half seven the next morning when Harry trudges into the little café at Adalheid station. After ordering tea for both himself and Louis, who should be arriving any minute if his train is on time, he sequesters himself in a cosy little alcove by one of the large glass windows, snuggling into an overstuffed armchair as he waits. He sips his tea gingerly, it still being rather hot, and scrolls through their group chat to see if he has any new messages from the other boys updating him on their arrival times. 

His head snaps up at the sound of someone knocking on the window to his right. On the other side of the glass, is the most beautiful boy Harry has ever seen. Even after knowing him for four years, moving into a flat with him, and spending hours upon hours in his presence, Louis still takes his breath away. Whenever they go a few days without seeing each other, Harry feels a sharp tug on his heart and the sensation of having the wind knocked out of him when his eyes land on Louis again. Sometimes Harry even misses him after only spending a few hours apart, which is absolutely pathetic and he knows it, but he can’t help it none-the-less. He loves Louis that much. 

Louis leans forward, pressing his nose right up to the glass so that his breath fogs it up, and proceeds to trace the word _hi_ along with a cross-eyed smiley face onto the clouded surface. Harry merely shakes his head fondly, dropping his eyes down to his lap so Louis won’t see how hopelessly in love he is. When he looks back up, Louis is entering the café and making his way over to Harry, a cheeky grin on his gorgeous face. He honestly gets more beautiful with every passing day. Harry has no clue how he does it. 

“Lou.” He murmurs softly as Louis approaches, his voice nearly cracking with emotion. 

“Get over here, Curly.” Louis commands, opening his arms wide for a hug. 

Harry gets to his feet and closes the distance between them in two easy strides, falling into Louis’ arms just as he drops his duffle bag off his shoulder to be able to embrace Harry properly. Harry wraps his arms tightly around Louis’ waist, holding him so close that he can clasp his own elbows behind Louis’ back, and buries his face in the side of Louis’ neck. The skin there is soft and fragrant, his lips brushing over it gently as he whispers, “I missed you so much.” 

“I missed you too, babe.” Louis sighs, his arms tightening around Harry’s neck, his nose in Harry’s curls. 

They hold each other for another moment or two, bodies so close that Harry only needs to breathe to feels Louis’ heart beating against his own. Never has he ever felt safer or more at home than when he is in Louis’ arms. 

Nerves begin to tingle throughout Harry’s body, his stomach swooping and bubbling like it’s full of some fizzy liquid, when he thinks about his plans for the next few days. After having a very emotional conversation with his mum and Gemma when he was home for Christmas and subsequently finishing the song he wrote for Louis, Harry had come to the conclusion that four years was long enough, and he was ready to finally tell his best friend his true feelings for him. 

Louis had always expressed the same desire as Harry to settle down young and start a family soon after. Luckily, Louis hadn’t dated too much during their time at uni, so Harry hadn’t been subjected to the torture of watching the love of his life fall in love with someone else, but that didn’t mean that it wouldn’t happen soon if Harry didn’t get his act together and drudge up the courage to confess his feelings. There had been countless times over the years when Harry had thought about telling Louis he was in love with him, but ultimately he let fear get the best of him and bit his tongue against the words every time. He had been terrified of losing what they had, because the truth was that what he and Louis had was so special Harry didn’t think there was any hope of replicating it with anyone else. And the thought of losing _that_ – something that was so essential a part of who he was as a person – tore his insides to shreds. He would rather die a thousand deaths than lose Louis, but as devastating as the thought of losing him was, Harry knew he couldn’t afford to be afraid anymore. He had to take his shot while he still had the chance to do so. 

He had tried his hand at dating too, but nothing ever stuck. Though he loved Louis, he didn’t want to have any regrets, and as much as it hurt to think about, he knew he shouldn’t spend his uni years pining after his best mate in case it didn’t work out between the two of them the way he hoped it would. So every once in a while he forced himself to chat up a bloke at the pub or go for a coffee date with a girl from one of his courses, but ultimately, he never felt anything beyond a surface attraction. None of his dates ever grew into serious relationships. Try as he might, Harry was just too honest to lead someone on that way when it was clear to him that he felt more in friendship towards Louis than he did romantically for anyone else. When he noticed Louis having a similar problem – dating around casually with no real commitment or enthusiasm – a small part of Harry was hopeful that maybe he was the reason, that maybe Louis felt the same about him and he was going through the motions just like Harry was. He knew it was a long shot, but he couldn't help the little twinge of hope he got in his chest when the thought occurred to him.

It’s the same feeling he has right now. When Louis is holding him like this – his strong arms wrapped around Harry’s neck, hands clutching Harry’s shirt like he doesn’t ever want to let go – it’s easy to hope that maybe, just maybe, Louis might feel the same way too. 

Harry wraps his arms more securely around Louis’ narrow waist and lifts him off his feet to spin them in a clumsy little circle. Louis shrieks and laughs, tucking his face deeper into Harry’s neck until Harry feels the warmth of his breath ghosting over his skin. 

“Put me down before you kill us both, you menace! Honestly, just because I’m a tiny bit shorter than you,” Louis squints as he holds his thumb and forefinger mere centimetres apart for emphasis, “you think it gives you the right to manhandle me.” 

Harry just smiles crookedly and lifts one shoulder in a sheepish shrug, diplomatically choosing not to point out that it is, in fact, Louis who does the majority of the manhandling in their relationship (a reality that Harry is completely, one hundred percent okay with). 

Shaking his head at Harry’s non-apology, Louis knocks his fist into Harry’s bicep playfully, then wraps his fingers around the muscle to give it a firm squeeze. His thumb traces over the area where they both know Harry’s tattoo is beneath the fabric of his long-sleeved white Henley. He does it absently, like a habit, something so second nature that he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it, but the glint in his eyes tells a different story. After all, it is a tattoo of the first word Louis ever said to him, it’s in his handwriting for God’s sake. Louis’ thumb presses down a bit more firmly, and Harry’s eyes automatically flit to Louis’ forearm where he knows that, beneath the knit of his jumper, the counterpart to Harry’s tattoo – the first word he ever spoke to Louis – is etched permanently into the golden skin there. 

He can’t help but smile stupidly as he recalls the origin story to their complementary ink. The five of them (Niall, Liam, Zayn, Louis, and himself) had been out drinking to celebrate their commencement from university, when Zayn had suggested the idea of friendship tattoos. They all, with the exception of Niall ( _I love you bastards a whole fucking lot, but I’m not ruining my pure Irish complexion for anyone!_ ) had agreed enthusiastically and immediately began brainstorming potential designs. They had finally decided on getting the image of a tiny screw tattooed on each of their ankles to remind them all that no matter what direction life would take them, they would always be connected. In addition, Liam got four arrows tattooed on the underside of his forearm (one to represent each of the lads) and Harry and Louis had decided to get the first words they ever spoke to each other – a reminder of where it all began and what was essentially the catalyst to the formation of the friendship between the five of them. Louis has the habit of pressing his thumb into the ink, or tracing over it lightly, in greeting and when he wants to get Harry’s attention. Harry still shivers every time he does it. 

“How was the trip? Did you manage to get any sleep?” Harry asks as he leads Louis over to the little alcove he’d been waiting in and hands him his tea. 

Louis kicks his bag across the floor, plops down into the armchair next to the one Harry had previously vacated, and takes a long, indulgent sip of tea. He closes his eyes, looking blissful and smiling at Harry in gratitude as he sits down as well. “Was alright. I had a decent kip, but I’m probably going to crash hard tonight. I loved seeing everyone at Christmas, but somehow I always manage to forget how mental it is in that house. There’s no such thing as quiet. Or personal space, for that matter. You’d think I’d be used to it after spending the first eighteen years of m’life there, but I’ve been well and truly spoiled having me own place the last few years. I missed you and our quiet little flat back home.” 

Harry’s heart rate increases significantly over the casual way Louis refers to their shared London flat as _home_. He takes a sip of his tea to give himself a minute to calm his racing pulse before responding. “Well, I’m not sure how much quiet you can expect over the next few days, Lou. This is a lad’s holiday, remember?” 

As if to demonstrate the validity of this statement, Harry and Louis’ phones both chime loudly in perfect synchronisation with a text from Liam informing them that his train had been delayed due to mechanical issue, and he would probably be arriving closer to when Zayn would be, rather than a few minutes after Louis as originally planned. 

“Looks like we just bought ourselves some time, did you want to head up to the chalet? You probably have time to get a kip in before we have to be back here to pick up Li and Z.” 

“Nah, I’ll be fine, babe. Want to grab breakfast instead? I’m starved.” 

“Sounds good, Lou.” 

They exit the café and make their way over to the car park to stow Louis’ duffle bag in the boot of Harry’s SUV, then set off down Adalheid’s main street in search of food. Wordlessly, they direct their path toward one of their usual haunts – a cosy little hole-in-the wall joint that offers traditional Swiss fare along with insanely delicious gourmet waffles. Harry and Louis discovered the place on their second trip together (the first time the other three lads had joined as well) and it quickly became a favourite. They both order the same thing whenever they visit, and then dutifully split their entrees in half to share with each other. 

As they sit tucked together at a small table by the window, a mouth-watering array of food set in front of them, Harry feels obligated to make the same corny joke he’s been making since the first time they ever came here. For tradition’s sake, of course. 

“Mmm, these are waffle-y good, Lou.” He says with much ceremony as he spears a bite of waffle on his fork. 

He still gets a thrilling sense of nostalgia remembering the first time he made that joke ( _Get it, Lou? Like, they’re awfully good, but they’re waffles so waffle-y good_ ) and how pleased he had been when Louis had burst out laughing so hard he nearly choked on said waffles (which Harry most certainly would not have been pleased about, but, near choking aside, it was a rare and flattering reaction to Harry’s ridiculous sense of humour.) Even four years later, the joke is still good for a disbelieving chuckle and a fond eye roll from Louis, and Harry _loves_ that. 

“Never change, Harold.” Louis laughs, shaking his head in faux exasperation as he hooks his foot around Harry’s ankle beneath the table. 

Despite the wetness from the melted snow on the sole of Louis’ trainer seeping into his jeans, Harry doesn’t move away, just nudges Louis’ foot playfully with the toe of his boot until Louis’ other foot comes alongside the first one to trap Harry’s foot between them. Harry bites his lip and looks down at his plate, feeling feverish with the blush that’s creeping up his neck and spreading over his cheeks. He wonders if there will ever be a time when he isn’t so devastatingly affected by Louis Tomlinson and the way he touches him with such maddening ease. One would think that moving in together would provide some sort of immunity, but the legion of swarming butterflies in Harry’s stomach suggests otherwise. Even after all the time spent in each other’s company, Louis still makes him blush like a schoolgirl multiple times a day, and even the tiniest, most casual of touches between them still gives Harry heart palpitations. 

They finish their breakfast in companionable silence – the quiet occasionally broken up by random bursts of conversation – their feet still linked under the table. The pleasant little bubble of warmth that encompasses them is momentarily disturbed when their server stops by to settle the bill and top off their drinks, but then they’re left alone once again. 

“How much longer before Zayn’s train is set to arrive? Liam said they would be getting in around the same time, yeah?” Louis asks as he pushes his plate away with a small groan, sitting back in his chair and folding his hands over his lower abdomen. 

As if summoned by those very words, there is a loud, enthusiastic knock on the window their table is pushed up against, and the two of them look over to see Liam’s smiling face on the other side of the glass. His nose is squished up against the pane as he waves at them exuberantly. His greeting of, “Hi, boys!” is only slightly muffled by the transparent barrier between them, which is a testament to the level of volume he proclaims it with, because the glass is really quite thick. Zayn is standing on the pavement a few paces behind him, his signature crooked smirk on his face as he watches Liam’s spirited display with a fond look in his eyes. He throws up a peace sign in response to Harry and Louis waving back at the two of them, ever the embodiment cool. 

Harry and Louis shrug into their coats and head outside to meet the other two boys. When they step out the front door, the cheerful chime of a bell overhead signaling their exit, Zayn is in the process of lighting a cigarette and Liam is fastidiously collecting the abundance of bags spread out at their feet on the paving stones. 

“Knew we’d find you two here. Z and I ended up getting in ‘round the same time like I thought, and figured we’d come surprise you!” Liam chirps brightly, a duffle bag slipping off his shoulder when he gestures grandly to indicate the restaurant. 

“Oi!” Louis calls out, motioning to the pile of luggage. “What’s with the gypsy wagon? You lot planning to move in or summat?” 

Harry snorts at his choice of words and knocks his hip against Louis’ in playful amusement. 

“You know Li,” Zayn chuckles as he takes a drag of his cigarette and blows a perfect smoke ring into the frosty mid-morning air, “always prepared.” 

Liam’s thick brows knit together in an adorably indignant expression. “It’s not that much, is it?” 

Zayn merely quirks a brow as his lips purse around another smoky inhale, his heavy lidded eyes soft with clear affection for the other boy. He stubs out his cigarette on the side of a nearby metal bin just as Harry and Louis approach. Then the four of them are taking turns embracing, words overlapping as they all greet each other cheerfully. 

“What do you lads say we head back to the car park so bag lady here can ditch all this shit, and then we can figure out something to do until Niall gets in?” Louis suggests, reaching up to muss Liam’s artfully constructed quiff when he protests with an affronted _hey_ at Louis’ teasing. 

They all voice their agreement with the plan and set off in the direction of the train station, each wordlessly shouldering one of Liam’s many bags. Zayn and Louis take the lead, Harry and Liam bringing up the rear, which puts Harry in the torturous position of trying to resist the urge to ogle Louis’ bum. So it’s a welcome distraction when Louis pushes an unsuspecting Zayn into a snowdrift on the edge of the pavement and takes off running, cackling like a maniac. 

“Louis, you idiot!” Zayn bellows in his thick Bradford drawl, righting himself and dusting snow off the back of his jeans before he sets off after Louis with a vengeful glare. 

Liam hooks an arm around Harry’s shoulders in camaraderie as they watch the scene play out in front of them. “It’s good to be back.” He says with a wistful sigh. 

Harry smiles as he leans into Liam’s embrace. He couldn’t agree more. 

* 

After ditching Liam and Zayn’s bags, they decide it’s not worth it to head up to the chalet only to have to return to town in a couple hours to fetch Niall from the train station, so they walk around aimlessly for a bit, popping into shops here and there, just enjoying each other’s company after months of separation. About an hour and a half into their shopping, Harry notices Louis starting to drag his feet and suggests they pop into a cafe to grab a drink and wait for Niall there. Zayn explains that his girlfriend, Gigi, had mentioned there being a traveling exhibit of an artist she liked at the local gallery, and he was hoping to check it out. Liam offers to tag along with him whilst Harry and Louis head over to the cafe to rest for a bit and recharge. They agree to meet back up there for lunch around the time Niall’s train is set to arrive, and text the Irish boy to let him in on the plan so he knows where to find them. Zayn and Liam head off and Harry and Louis embark on a quest for a hot chocolate fix since Louis has started complaining about his blood sugar dropping. 

They’ve been sitting on the rooftop terrace of a cute little cafe they often frequent when in town for over an hour – comfortably warm under the heat lamps as they sip their indulgently creamy beverages and catch up on what they missed during their week long separation – when they’re interrupted from the story Louis is telling about how his mum had thought the fancy wine bottle opener his sister Lottie got her for Christmas was some kind of sex toy by a bright, lilting voice calling out to them from the street below. Harry is still giggling and clutching his sides when the two of them peer over the railing to see Niall standing on the pavement grinning up at them, a snapback perched precariously on his head and his bag slung over his shoulder. 

“Romeo! Romeo! Where for art thou, Romeo!” He cries theatrically, one hand clutching his chest to really rev up the drama. 

Louis snorts in fond exasperation. 

“Ni,” Harry snickers, leaning further over the railing to address their ridiculous friend below, “you do realise that Juliet was the one on the balcony, right?” 

“Ah, shit.” Niall concedes with a shrug. “ ‘Spose you’re right. Should’ve gone with Rapunzel then, I reckon. Plus, you’ve got the hair for it now, Haz.” 

“What is he on about?” Louis shakes his head amusedly, eyes bright and voice lowered so only Harry can hear him. Then louder, “Oi, Ireland! Quit trying to romance young Harold here and get your pasty arse upstairs and join us.” 

“We have hot chocolate!” Harry sing songs, waggling his eyebrows and shooting Niall a mischievous grin. 

“Say no more!” The Irishman replies, heading for the front door of the cafe below, the melodic trill of bells signaling his entrance. 

He materialises at the top of the stairwell a few moments later, looking elated with a bright flush staining his cheeks and a wide smile aimed in their direction. “Lads!” He cries, spreading his arms wide as he makes his way over to their table. 

Louis and Harry both get to their feet to greet him properly. 

“Jesus, Haz.” Niall laughs as he pulls back from Harry’s embrace, his hand reaching out to poke at one of the springier curls that’s brushing Harry’s shoulder. “You really could pass for Rapunzel.” 

Harry scrunches his nose up with a shy grin, catching Louis’ eye over Niall’s shoulder and internally sighing at the soft look on his beautiful face as he watches their exchange. 

“Looks good, man!” Niall assures him enthusiastically, giving the lock of hair a gentle tug before releasing it and stepping away to drop his bag next to one of the empty chairs surrounding their table. “Where are Li and Z?” He asks, promptly stealing Harry’s hot chocolate and taking a huge gulp. Harry doesn’t protest. He loves Niall. 

“Fuck if we know.” Louis admits with an airy laugh. “Zayn convinced Liam to go with him to some art installation thing Gigi told him about, but it seems like they’ve been gone for ages.” 

“They’re supposed to meet us for lunch.” Harry cuts in. 

“Buuut,” Louis interjects, “we all know how Zayn gets when he’s in artistic mode, and we also know how Liam always humours him. Who knows how long they’ll be.” 

Niall grins devilishly, looking entirely too delighted as he rubs his hands together in front of his chest. He has a whip cream mustache from the hot chocolate, and it makes for a very ridiculous picture. “So what I’m hearing you say is that we don’t have to wait for them to eat, which is fine by me. I’m fucking starving.” 

“You absolutely do, you dickheads.” A smooth voice - highlighted by the unmistakable cadences of Zayn’s West Yorkshire accent - calls out from across the terrace. 

“Some mates you are.” Liam agrees grumpily from behind the dark haired boy, trying to arrange his features into a semblance of a frown, but it’s quickly eclipsed by a brilliant smile when he and Zayn approach the table where Harry, Louis, and Niall are sat. 

“How was the exhibit, Z?” Harry asks interestedly, once Zayn and Liam have greeted Niall and settled into their seats. 

“It was wicked.” Zayn nods in that quietly enthusiastic way of his, a grin tugging up the corners of his lips. “I spoke to the artist about maybe doing a collaboration or something for the gallery back home, and he seemed pretty into it. Gigi is going to be thrilled when I tell her.” 

“That’s great, babe.” Louis chimes in, looking proud as he observes the happy glint in Zayn’s amber eyes. 

Sometimes, Harry forgets that Zayn and Louis have been friends for nearly double the amount of time that the five of them have all known each other. Sometimes, he forgets what his life was like period before Louis (and the other three lads) waltzed in. He chuckles to himself when he recalls a time, in the first few weeks after meeting Louis, where he had actually been jealous of the friendship that Louis and Zayn had. It feels like a million years ago, and Zayn has never been anything but gracious about the fact that Harry basically swooped in out of nowhere and essentially stole his best mate. Those childish pangs of jealousy had faded rather quickly when Harry got to know Zayn, and Liam subsequently, and saw that their respective relationships with Louis were nothing but platonic. He could never begrudge Louis having such wonderful people in his life. Louis deserved the world as far as Harry was concerned, and he soon grew to love both Zayn and Liam just as much as Louis did. Niall had been the final piece that perfectly completed their friendship puzzle, and the rest was history.

 

There’s rarely a day that goes by where Harry doesn’t think about how grateful he is that they all found their way into each other’s lives, and sitting here with the four of them reminds him just how much he has missed this - the days before the realities of adulthood and the world outside of uni had facilitated their separation. The five of them still talk and text all the time, and set up skype sessions whenever they can. He sees Louis every day and Liam at least once a month, but he’s so happy that they still make the effort to get together in person like this – all five of them. 

* 

After a leisurely lunch filled with plenty of laughter and teasing in addition to the obligatory catching up, they meander around town a bit longer before finally heading back to the car park and piling into Harry’s borrowed SUV for the journey up to the chalet. Harry takes pride in Louis’ pouty, disgruntled expression when Niall calls shotgun and slips into the passenger seat up front beside Harry, feeling encouraged by Louis’ obvious displeasure at the two of them being separated. He continuously steals glances at Louis in the rearview mirror, the other boy squished in the back middle seat between Zayn and Liam, and smiles stupidly every time their eyes meet – gazes catching in a wordless, private exchange. 

They all groan (more on principle than in actual annoyance) when Niall commandeers the stereo and insists on blasting _500 Miles_ by The Proclaimers at full volume just as he has every single time they’ve made the trip from the train station to Harry’s holiday house in the past. But, as usual, by the time the make it to their destination, Harry, Louis, Liam, and Zayn have dropped all pretence of being annoyed with the Irish boy’s antics and the five of them are all singing along obnoxiously loud, complete with exaggerated harmonies and ridiculous dance moves. 

They all pitch in to unload the car, Harry chuckling when he catches Zayn’s eye as the two of them listen to Louis teasingly berate Liam once again for his excess of luggage. Liam pouts until Niall snakes his way between the two boys and kisses him sloppily on the cheek. He then removes his own snapback and settles it atop Liam’s head before skipping merrily away to jump on Louis for a piggyback ride. Harry has to intervene before someone ends up getting hurt when Louis makes to carry Niall up the spiral staircase that way, and takes the subsequent teasing about being an overprotective mum in stride. 

Once they’ve made it up to the loft, sans injury thank you very much, they each toss their bags onto a bed to claim it. They easily fall into their usual sleeping arrangement without the need for discussion: Liam and Zayn taking the two bottom bunks on the right side of the room, Louis and Niall taking the top bunks on the left side, and Harry in the bottom bunk beneath Louis. If past experience is anything to go by, Louis will wind up in Harry’s bed most nights regardless of where he originally intended on sleeping, and, as usual, the other boys will tease them about being co-dependent and ask why they even bothered with a two bedroom flat back home if they’re so keen on sharing. 

Knackered from a day of travel, they all decide to spend the remainder of the afternoon downstairs in the lounge snuggled up on the sofa together for an epic FIFA tournament. Just before six, Harry halts the proceedings to announce that he needs to get started on preparing dinner. That earns him a couple snide comments from Liam and Niall about him just wanting an excuse to get away before he has the pants beaten off of him yet again by their combined efforts. It’s true, Harry is rather shit at FIFA, but Louis more than makes up for his lack of skills and never complains about having Harry on his team. They’ve won more matches against the other boys than Harry can count, thanks entirely to Louis’ efforts, but that doesn’t stop Louis from referring to them as the dream team, even though Harry feels like he contributes next to nothing.

Cooking, however, is an area where Harry feels much more useful, and it’s tradition for him to prepare each of the boys their favourite meal for everyone to enjoy together over the course of their holiday. Tonight it’s Zayn’s turn, and Harry is so thankful the dark-haired boy has finally outgrown his vegan phase. While he fully respected Zayn’s discipline in adhering to that lifestyle, there’s only so much you can do to tofu to make it taste even remotely edible in Harry’s humble opinion. The dish Zayn has chosen is a much more appealing penne al vodka, which Harry decides will pair well with garlic bread and a kale salad. 

He opts to get started on the pasta first, and goes to pull all the ingredients for the sauce out of the cupboards and spread them out on the worktop. Louis is taking a shower and Zayn fucked off to go phone his girlfriend and have a kip before dinner (though Harry suspects he actually just needs a bit of time alone to decompress after a day of travel before he’s ready to be social again), but Liam and Niall are sitting at the dining table to keep Harry company whilst he cooks. They’ve got a bottle of whiskey and a deck of cards and are playing some sort of card game/drinking game hybrid that Harry can’t make sense of. It involves flipping cards and hand slapping and taking shots apparently, and Harry is rather impressed that Niall somehow coerced Liam into playing with him. Judging by all the yelling and cursing and the number of times Liam has tipped the bottle back, he’s losing pretty spectacularly. 

Harry jumps – startled – causing some of the tomato sauce he’d been mixing to splatter onto the worktop when Niall slaps his hand down on the stack of cards and punches his fist in the air triumphantly. “Yeah, bitch!” 

Harry shakes his head, chuckling to himself as he tears off a square of kitchen roll to clean up the mess. Niall must be watching _Breaking Bad_ again if his trash talk is anything to go by. 

“Suck it, Payno!” He says delightedly. “Drrriiiiiinnnk!” 

When Louis trudges into the room a few minutes later, Niall is still celebrating his apparent victory by standing on his chair and singing a slightly more vulgar version of Queen’s _We Are The Champions_ to a very unimpressed looking Liam. It’s a testament to their friendship that Louis doesn’t even bat an eye at it – not even when Liam gets fed up and tries to push Niall off his chair and a full blown wrestling match ensues on the kitchen floor – just sidles up to Harry and wraps his arms around his waist from behind. 

“Watcha cookin’ good lookin’?” He asks cheekily, hooking his chin over Harry’s shoulder to study the ingredients spread out on the worktop. 

His hair is still damp from the shower, and the clean, crisp scent of his body wash wafts off his skin and envelops Harry. He’s wearing heather grey addidas joggers with a tissue-thin, white t-shirt, and he’s so soft and warm pressed up against Harry’s back that Harry wants nothing more than to just sink into him and let himself drown. 

“Penne al vodka with salad and garlic bread.” Harry answers after a beat, his voice sounding a bit dreamy and spaced out even to his own ears, but if Louis notices anything is amiss he’s kind enough not to question Harry about it. 

With a squeeze to Harry’s hips, he peels off his back and hoists himself up onto the worktop. “Sounds delicious, love. Need a hand?” 

Harry shakes his head, his lips curling into a small smile. “That’s okay, Lou, I’ve got it. You can keep me company though, spare me from being alone with these two nutters.” Harry gestures to where Niall and Liam are still engaged in a combat situation on the kitchen floor. 

“You pillock!” Liam shouts with a pained groan when Niall hits him with a cheap shot below the belt and rolls away cackling like a maniac. Liam may be much bigger and stronger than Niall, but Niall has been in enough pub brawls to know how to fight dirty, so all things considered, they are pretty evenly matched. 

“Oi! Boys!” Louis hollers just as Liam regains his footing and starts charging after Niall once more. “Don’t make me phone your father!” 

They ignore Louis’ teasing warning and chase each other out of the kitchen, resuming their wrestling match in the lounge if the loud crash and distinctly Irish, “ _Fuck off, ya cunt! That’s the hand I play guitar with_ ,” are anything to go by. 

Harry snorts as Louis rolls his eyes, hopping off the worktop and striding towards the cacophony emanating from the lounge to intervene before Liam convinces Niall to have a proper boxing match, or worse, they end up waking Zayn. 

“If I’m not back before dawn, send a search party!” Louis dramatically calls out over his shoulder. Harry chuckles and flips his hair out of his face to give Louis a two-fingered salute in confirmation before he disappears from sight. 

By the time he returns a few minutes later with Niall and Liam in tow looking appropriately chastised, Harry has a pot of water boiling for the pasta and his tomato sauce is simmering on the hob. He sets to work chopping vegetables for the salad, and Niall and Liam settle back into their seats at the dining table, partaking in a much more civil card game. Harry smiles to himself as he washes a pint of cherry tomatoes, watching Louis interact with Liam and Niall out of the corner of his eye and thinking about how easily he falls into the role of big brother even when he’s not around his own siblings. He’s a natural leader, and while he certainly stirs up his share of mischief when the lot of them are together, his first priority always seems to be making sure everyone is taken care of. It’s a trait of his that Harry values and respects greatly, and it’s high up on the nearly endless list of reasons why Harry loves him with all his heart. Louis is such a lovely person. Harry could honestly spend all day just admiring what he’s like and recalling all the little things about him that often go unnoticed by others, but to Harry, add up to the beautiful complexity of his character and make him so irresistible. 

The cold splash of water on his skin pulls him from his romantic musings as he finishes rinsing the tomatoes. He is just about to start dicing them for the salad, when the object of his affections and perpetual star of his daydreams crosses the kitchen to approach him with something clutched in his hand. 

“How about a little music?” Louis asks, waving a CD in front of Harry’s face. 

Harry catches Louis’ dainty wrist, his fingers wrapping gently around the delicate bone structure there to steady Louis’ hand so he can see what’s written on the surface of the disc. _Nineties Baby Mix_ is scrawled in black sharpie across the top portion, with _Happy Birthday, Lou! Love, Z_ written in the same neat hand along the bottom. Harry nods approvingly as he goes to stir the tomato sauce on the hob, and Louis slides the CD into the ancient stereo system that resides in the corner of the kitchen. It’s practically an antique. Harry’s mum calls it an eyesore, but Harry has always insisted they keep it around. Zayn’s proclivity for creating mix CDs reminds Harry that he’s not alone in his fondness for the slightly outdated means of listening to music, probably because they’re both romantics at heart and can see the allure in doing things the old fashioned way.

There’s a crackle of static as Louis turns the volume knob, and then the unmistakable opening notes of Ginuwine’s _Pony_ are blasting through the speakers and filtering into the enclosed space of the kitchen. Harry purses his lips against a grin, biting down hard on his lower one as he drops his chin to his chest and shakes his head. _Of course_ this song is on the mix. Back in their second year at university, the five of them had gone out to a karaoke bar to celebrate the end of exams at half term and Harry may or may not have gotten spectacularly pissed and attempted a strip tease to this very song on stage. Louis may or may not have video evidence of Harry’s shame stashed away somewhere that he teasingly threatens to unleash on a semi-regular basis. 

Harry turns around slowly, cocking his head to the side and losing his battle to suppress his grin as he watches Louis casually saunter towards him with that very familiar, very dangerous smirk of his. He waggles his eyebrows ridiculously, opening his mouth to sing along just as the first verse starts up, “ _I’m just a bachelor looking for a partner. Someone who knows how to ride_ …” 

He stops halfway to Harry and mimes swinging a lasso. Harry tips his head back as a fond giggle bubbles out of his mouth, and allows himself to be “pulled” towards Louis by his invisible rope. Louis is beaming at him, nose all scrunched up and his gorgeous blue eyes reduced to mere slits from the strength of his smile. An idea seems to occur to him, because his expression quickly transforms into one of clear mischief and he abruptly turns on his heel and heads for the dining table where he grabs Liam’s scarf from where it’s draped over the back of one of the chairs. He returns to Harry with a wicked glint in his eyes, and holds on to both ends of the scarf, looping the middle section over Harry’s head to pull him closer. When they’re standing about an arm’s length from each other, Louis shimmies the scarf behind Harry’s shoulders. 

“C’mon, babe, let’s see that famous Styles shimmy shake!” He goads Harry teasingly, eyes dancing with mirth. 

Harry laughs and covers his face with his hands, already feeling the beginnings of a blush creeping over his skin. His ears feel warm and his head feels light, but his heart is full of affection for the boy standing in front of him so he lets out a little squeak and gives in, shimmying his shoulders and rolling his hips. 

“There it is!” Louis cheers in approval, giving his own hips a little shake. “Wild Styles indeed.” He whispers with a cheeky wink low enough so only Harry can hear. 

A startled laugh forces its way out of Harry at the reference to their playful text exchange from a week prior. Heat prickles under the surface of his skin and simmers low in his belly as he dares to steal a glance at Louis. Their eyes meet for a brief moment, just long enough for Louis to send him another wink, and the look that bridges the distance between them, traveling along the gradient from bright, gleeful blue to glossy, bashful green, makes Harry’s stomach swoop. 

As the two of them continue to dance together like idiots, Harry is reminded of their first night alone in their new flat. They had stayed up ridiculously late toasting their new place with the posh champagne Harry’s mum had gifted them whilst they unpacked and danced around to Ed Sheeran’s latest album. After eating cold pizza leftover from when Zayn and Liam had been there the day before, they had passed out in a heap on the kitchen floor, giggling like mad and drunk off their arses. It was one of the best nights of Harry’s life. If he was being honest, every night with Louis seemed like the best night of his life, but that one had been particularly memorable, and Harry can’t help the starry-eyed look he’s undoubtedly sporting now as he recalls it. 

Over at the dining table, Niall laughs loudly and claps his hands together, his cheeks getting even ruddier as his laughter grows more and more raucous. “You know, Hazza isn’t the only one who has history with this song. Did I ever tell you lads about the time I made a parody of it with Ingrid’s tour manager, James?” He asks, blue eyes bright as he looks between Harry, Louis, and Liam. He doesn’t even wait for them to answer before he’s plowing on with the rest of his story in true Niall fashion. “Man’s a fucking riot, I’m tellin’ ya! We were in the green room after a show and it was Halloween, so we changed all the lyrics to make it about candy. Fucking epic! I think someone got it on video and posted it to youtube. Can’t remember for sure, the show had been in Dublin so I was drunk off me arse at the time!” 

“Now that I would like to see!” Liam chirps delightedly, joining in with Niall’s laughter. 

“I’ll have to see if I can dig up the video when I get back with the crew after the break. Unlike H, I’ve got no shame. I’ll be sure to send it to ya lads!” 

“Hey!” Harry interjects, throwing the Irish boy an affronted look. “I didn’t hear anything about you trying to take your clothes off in public in this alleged video, so unless you forgot to mention that part you don’t get to talk to me about shame!” 

“To be fair, love,” Louis adds diplomatically, “he could’ve been totally starkers in the video and still not feel an ounce of embarrassment about it. That’s just Niall.” 

“Too true!” Liam agrees enthusiastically, slapping a beaming Niall on the back as the four of them indulge in a good laugh at his expense. 

The song fades out and quickly transitions to the next track, which just so happens to be _Baby Got_ _Back_ by Sir Mix A Lot. 

“Ooh shit!” Niall guffaws. “It’s your song, Tommo!” 

Harry refocuses his attention on the task of preparing their dinner, trying his best not to think about Louis’ incredible arse as his three friends rap along to the outrageously explicit tune in the background. He can’t resist being a little cheeky, however, when he walks past Louis on his way to the fridge to grab the kale. He slaps Louis’ bum with a tea towel and croons along with the line, “ _my anaconda don’t want none unless you got buns, hun_.” 

Louis squawks in surprise and spins around to face Harry. “Is that so?” He challenges with purposeful arch of his brow. 

Harry is frozen, trapped in the heat of Louis’ intense gaze and shocked at his own brazenness. Sweat starts to bead at his temples, but somehow he is still unable to look away. He feels remarkably like Icarus with his wings burning as he flies too close to the sun. The trance is broken a moment later when Liam hiccups out a sound that’s a cross between a cough and a nervous laugh.

"Alright, ya dirty bastards, quit yer eye-fuckin' so Harry can get on with it, would ya? I'm bloody starving." Niall complains.

"That's the thing though, innit?" Liam chimes in like he just can’t help himself. "It's not even fucking. That's too crude. The way they look at each other, it's like they're making love with their eyes or summat."

Starting to panic, Harry briefly wonders why his friends would be making comments like this when they know he is going to tell Louis how he feels soon, but then he realises how completely weird and out of character it would seem if they suddenly stopped teasing the two of them about the closeness of their relationship and he relaxes again. Just because _he_ knows he’s about to tell Louis doesn’t mean that Louis has any idea what’s coming. For him, the two of them getting ribbed by their mates is business as usual. So far, the other three lads are definitely doing a much better job of acting naturally than Harry is, which he’s thankful for, but he needs to sort himself out so he doesn’t give anything away before he gets the chance to actually tell Louis how he feels.

"Um, hello?” Louis sing-songs with an eye roll. “We can hear you lot, you know? We're standing right here."

"Oh hush! No one asked you." Liam dismisses him with a wave of his hand, earning a boisterous shriek of a laugh from Niall.

"Excuse me, Liam?!" Louis scoffs.

Liam continues on as if Louis hasn't even spoken. "Now, do we need to separate you two so Haz can focus? ‘Cause I agree with Niall, I'm bloody starving."

"Oh for fuck's sake!" Louis cries, throwing his hands up in the air.

“It’s alright, Lou.” Harry soothes quietly. “Why don’t you guys go wake up Z while I finish up here. I’ve just got to put together the salad and pop the bread in the oven to bake and then I’ll come join you in the lounge.”

Louis looks hesitant but concedes with a nod when Harry offers him a small, encouraging smile, and exits the kitchen with a very smug looking Liam and Niall. Harry bites down hard on his lower lip to keep the smile from splitting his face when he hears the unmistakable sound of a hand slapping skin and Niall’s indignant voice huffing out, “Oi, what did ya do that for?”

*

Ten minutes later, Harry makes his way into the lounge and sinks to the floor in front of the sofa, his body moving to occupy the space right in front of Louis before his brain can even catch up and make the conscious decision to do so. His brow is still slightly sweaty and his curls are mostly wilted from the steam of the water he had boiled the pasta in – the little springy bits behind his ears rebelling against the hair products he’d used and frizzing up. He rolls his shoulders and arches his neck from side to side in an attempt to ward off the soreness from spending roughly the last hour hunched over the work surface whilst he was preparing dinner. It’s almost ready now, though, just waiting on the garlic bread to finish baking.

During their brief period of separation, the other lads appear to have successfully roused Zayn from his beauty sleep without incurring any casualties and they all appear to be in a jovial mood as they lounge about on the sofas and chat aimlessly. Harry’s back makes a series of popping sounds as he continues to stretch, wincing at both the feeling and the accompanying groans of protest from his aching muscles in consequence of his poor posture.

“Yikes, H. Your back bothering you again?” Liam asks with a sympathetic tilt to his thick brows.

“ ‘S nothing.” Harry dismisses. “Always gets a bit stiff after spending time in the kitchen, that’s all.”

He’s barely finished speaking when two strong hands skate over his shoulders.

“Want me to rub your shoulders, babe?” Louis’ offer is made a bit redundant by the fact that his hands are already caressing the aforementioned part of Harry’s anatomy, his deft, capable fingers moving easily over the sore, rigid muscles under Harry’s skin.

Harry can feel the warmth of Louis’ touch even through the fabric of his Henley, and he can’t be arsed to stifle the shiver of pleasure that ripples through him in response. “Please.” He purrs, tipping his head back until it’s resting on Louis’ shins where the other boy is sitting cross-legged on the sofa behind him.

“How come you never offer to rub my shoulders, Tommo?” Niall complains loudly from across the room.

“ ‘S cause you’re Irish.” Louis retorts without missing a beat, his fingers curling into the tense muscles of Harry’s shoulders and kneading at the knots expertly.

Harry snorts amusedly at their banter, and even though his eyes are closed he knows Louis is preening at his reaction, always thrilled when Harry laughs at his cheeky comments.

“I just want a little loving!” Niall faux sobs. “That’s all I’m asking. Is it too much to ask?”

“Aw, Nialler,” Zayn placates, reaching over to ruffle the sulking boy’s messy brunet locks, “don’t take it too personally. You know Lou only does that shit for Harry ‘cause he’s his favourite. Come over here, babes. I’ll give you some loving.”

And it’s the truth, Louis does give Harry special treatment. He’s always been gentler with Harry, more careful. When he speaks to Harry his words are soft, the edges rounded off where they are normally all witty barbs and sharp angles. He lets Harry get away with saying ridiculous things – things that he would mock any of the other boys for mercilessly if they had been the one to say it. He loves all the boys, that much is abundantly clear, but Harry is the only one he treats with such tenderness. It causes warmth to radiate out from the centre of Harry’s chest and makes his head feel all fuzzy. It’s a wonderful kind of feeling to be singled out as someone special to Louis and to be on the receiving end of the gentlest version of him.

“What can I say?” Louis sighs dreamily, threading his fingers through Harry’s long hair. “It’s the curls.”

Niall plops himself in Zayn’s lap and mutters something that sounds to Harry an awful lot like _fucking married, I swear to God_ , the musical peal of laughter from Zayn only serving to further confirm his suspicions.

Louis lifts Harry’s head off his legs so he can uncross them and lower them to the floor on either side of Harry, bracketing his shoulders. He then leans down to whisper softly in his ear, “You are, y’know? You’re my fucking favourite.” He punctuates the declaration with a firm squeeze to Harry’s shoulders. “Thanks for making dinner, babe. Lean forward a bit for me, yeah? Get them knots out.”

Harry’s fingers trace absently around Louis’ delicate ankles, his lips quirked in a contented smile as he leans his head back once more and presses his cheek to Louis’ inner thigh. The beautiful boy looks down fondly at Harry when he tilts his head back to make eye contact, his smile growing by the second. “You’re my favourite too, Lou. My very favourite.” Harry confesses lowly, just for the two of them.

Louis scrunches his nose up adorably, lips pursed forward like he is fighting the grin threatening to take over his face. He blows Harry a kiss and taps his chin, prompting him to straighten back up so he can continue to work over his shoulders.

It feels incredible – having Louis’ hands on him – but Harry is reluctant to break eye contact, briefly entertaining the image of the two of them sharing an upside down, Spiderman-style kiss. He knows for a fact that Louis has a fantasy about kissing someone like that. He told Harry so at a Halloween party back when they were still in uni. Louis had been clad head to toe in red and blue spandex at the time, dressed up as the masked vigilante himself, and Harry had found it immeasurably difficult not to pull a Katniss Everdeen and volunteer himself as tribute. He had, however, decided to store that little tidbit of information away for a rainy day ( _ha!_ quite literally, if he wanted their hypothetical reenactment to be authentic to the original).

At that moment, the timer he had set for bread goes off, and Harry groans, nowhere near ready to extricate himself from the sheer heaven that is having Louis’ hands on him. Above him on the sofa, Louis chuckles knowingly, scratching over the nape of Harry’s neck in an apologetic gesture. He disentangles himself from Harry and gets to his feet, offering Harry his hand to help him up from where he’s slumped, loose-limbed, on the floor.

“C’mon, love. Up you go. How ‘bout we get in the hot tub after dinner, hm? That always seems to help your back.”

“I brought along a little something from home if you lads want to smoke up.” Zayn chimes in, one artfully sculpted brow arched in question.

“Fuck yes!” Niall whoops, shouldering in between Louis and Harry in his haste to be the first one to the dining table. “Zayn always gets the best shit.”

With a smirk, Zayn turns his honeyed eyes towards the pair of them. “How ‘bout it, Haz? Lou?”

“I’m in.” Louis nods. “It’s been an age.”

Harry isn’t much of a smoker. He had tried it once before, with all the lads during their first year at university, and he’d had a coughing fit so epic he swears he choked up a lung and took at least five years off his life. He didn’t have much of a desire to try it again, but he never objected to the other boys partaking in his presence on occasion. Especially not when Louis gets all lax and pliant and tends to be even looser with his affection than he normally is (which is saying something, because even stone cold sober, Louis is extremely tactile and affectionate).

Harry scratches at the side of his nose, shrugging amicably. “You know I’m not much for it, but I don’t mind if you lot want to.”

They all file into the kitchen, Liam, Zayn, and Niall heading for the dining table while Harry peels off to take the bread out of the oven and dish the pasta into a serving bowl. Louis comes up behind him and head butts him between the shoulder blades until Harry turns around to look at him.

“Hi,” he laughs softly.

“Hi,” Louis returns, just as soft. “Want me to help you with this?”

“Yes, please.”

Between the two of them, they are able to gather up all the components of their meal and haul everything to the dining table in one trip.

“Where do you want to sit?” Harry asks, turning to Louis as he sets down the salad bowl and pushes it into the middle of the table where everyone can reach.

“Next to you,” Louis says simply, like it’s a given.

The wattage of Harry’s anwering smile could likely power the entire village of Adalheid for the foreseeable future.

Dinner passes by in a pleasant haze of good food and light-hearted banter between the five of them. Things do go a little off course when Louis and Liam get into an argument over something having to do with football that Harry can’t be arsed to care about. He may have no stake in the reason for their bickering, however, he can certainly admire and appreciate the effect their little debate has on Louis.

Harry absolutely loves it when Louis gets passionate about something and his northern accent comes on extra thick; his tongue going sloppy around his consonants as his voice gets progressively louder and higher. The more heated the argument, the faster Louis speaks, and Harry will never fail to be endeared by that beautiful blue eyed boy going all Donny at the drop of a hat. He can’t even understand half of what Louis is saying when he’s nattering on like this, but he’s so damn cute that Harry actually feels his lips tingle and his fingertips burn with the urge to just haul the other boy into his lap and kiss him quiet. There’s also something inexplicably sexy about sassy Louis, and it makes Harry want to get on his knees for him so fast he’d probably give himself whiplash, but what else is new? There isn’t much that doesn’t make Harry want to get on his knees for Louis. It’s an urge he’s constantly trying to curb, because he feels a little guilty about how frequently his thoughts about his best mate devolve into something sexual in nature, and honestly, the last thing he ever wants to do is objectify Louis. He respects him too much for that.  

It becomes clear that intervention is necessary when they’ve all finished eating yet the debate is still going strong. Niall grabs a piece of garlic bread and begins to tear off small pieces and toss them at the side of Liam’s head, knowing full well that Liam won’t back down from arguing his point long enough to retaliate. Zayn banishes Louis and Liam to the sink to do the washing up as punishment for arguing, and teasingly informs them that they are not allowed to leave the kitchen until they have made up. Eventually, they must come to some kind of truce, because they have their arms slung around each other’s shoulders when they join the other three in the lounge where Zayn is rolling a couple joints for them to take out to the hot tub. Too lazy to climb up to the loft to change, they all forgo proper swimming attire in favour of just stripping down to their pants. They pop by the kitchen to grab some beers and head out onto the frigid deck armed with nothing but towels to protect their bare skin from the chill of the late December night.

* 

“I dare you to go jump in that snow drift!” Liam giggles uncontrollably, his warm brown eyes going wide with child-like amusement as he nudges Niall in the ribs and gestures animatedly to the other end of the deck with the neck of his beer bottle. 

They’ve all been sitting in the hot tub for a while now and somewhere around beer number five, Liam got it in his head that they should play a game of truth or dare. Niall, who has probably drank twice as much, is pretty much the only one humouring him at this point, but Liam either doesn’t notice the other boys skirting his attempts to get them involved or simply doesn’t care. Drunk Liam is a rare and thoroughly fascinating phenomenon, and Harry will never cease to be endeared by it. 

“I’ll do you one better.” Niall counters, waggling his eyebrows suggestively, a mischievous smirk right at home on his expressive features. 

He climbs out of the hot tub, hissing and cursing as the wind cuts across his damp, bare skin, and turns his back to the lads as he unceremoniously strips off his pants. 

“Oi! Horan! Put your dick away, nobody wants to see that!” Louis calls, turning into Harry’s shoulder and theatrically shielding his eyes. 

“Your mum does!” Niall challenges without missing a beat, like the absolute thirteen-year-old boy that he is. 

At that, Louis is on his feet, shooting out of the hot tub faster than a bullet from a gun. He chases a naked, squawking Niall across the frozen deck and tackles him into the snow drift with much more force than his tiny frame looks capable of possessing. He’s deceptively scrappy; it’s another one of those things Harry has always loved most about him. 

“Aw, Lou.” Niall croons drunkenly, struggling underneath Louis as they tussle in the snow. “I never knew you felt this way about me.” 

“Gross! Get off me, you Irish git!” Louis says with the air of someone who’s being licked to death by an over-excited puppy. 

“Hate to bicker about positions, darling, but you are the one on top right now.” Niall cackles as Louis makes a disgusted noise, immediately shoving him away and stumbling back to the hot tub. 

He climbs into Harry’s lap, lower lip trembling as he attempts to push it out in a pout. “Hazza,” he whines, “help me, I’m cold and traumatised!” 

“What did you expect to happen, Lou? You jumped into a snow drift.” Harry giggles fondly, feeling so incredibly warm despite the lapful of freezing boy in his arms. 

“Shut up and put those massive hands of yours to good use. Warm me up you bloody great oaf!” 

Louis presses his ice-cold lips into the crook of Harry’s neck as Harry vigorously rubs his hands over Louis’ exposed shoulders and biceps. 

“Hey, Haz!” Zayn calls from the other side of the hot tub where Niall has just settled back in place, thankfully having re-acquired his pants. “I think his dick is probably cold too. Might need to rub that.” 

Liam guffaws and slaps a palm over his mouth to muffle the sound, while Niall just cackles freely, throwing his fist out for Zayn to bump. 

“Fuck off, you lot!” Louis huffs, shaking his head and only burrowing deeper into Harry’s chest and neck. 

Thankfully he’s too busy brandishing his middle finger to notice that Harry’s cheeks have managed to set themselves on fire. 

Niall accepts the joint Zayn had been smoking and takes a long drag, tilting his head back and blowing out a couple smoke rings. “Sure you don’t want some, Haz? This isn’t like that shit we used to smoke back in uni.” 

Harry is about to open his mouth to reply when he sees Zayn’s expression morph into something wicked, his tawny eyes dancing with clear malicious intent as they land on Harry. 

“You could always try shot-gunning.” He suggests casually, running a hand through his quiff. “Lou and I used to do it all the time back in sixth form. Isn’t that right, Lou? 

Louis swallows audibly, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he slowly shifts his gaze from Zayn to Harry. “Yeah…we, erm, we did.” His voice comes out thick and he coughs a little to clear the gravel from it. “I could show you, erm, if you like.” 

Before Harry even has a chance to process the full implications of what Louis is offering, he’s nodding his head, betrayed by his own body’s innate need for the closest possible form of contact with Louis. Even though he’s terrified of what’s about to transpire, he still can’t seem to deny how much he wants it. Harry has spent four years watching Louis’ sinful lips; he’s memorised the way they stretch to accommodate his smile, he’s studied the way Louis’ sharp little eye teeth indent the flesh when he bites them and has written entire songs about their exact shade of pink, he’s cataloged their every bow and curve and has had countless fantasies about how they would feel pressed up against his own. Now that he is being presented with the opportunity to find out, he won’t waste it. 

Zayn passes the joint to Louis with a smirk and Louis, who is still in Harry’s lap, turns to him with a question in his eyes. Harry watches the steady rise and fall of Louis’ chest and doesn’t think he’s imagining it when he observes that his breathing rate appears to be slightly more accelerated than normal. His eyes flit back to Louis’ and he swears he can practically feel his pupils dilating. 

“Yeah?” Louis breathes out quietly, asking for permission as if Harry would ever deny him a single thing. 

Harry just nods, completely incapable of doing anything else. 

“Don’t be shy, love.” Louis murmurs softly as he curves his hand around the back of Harry’s neck, his fingers slipping into the damp curls there, and gently pulls him closer. Harry’s heart is beating so hard he can feel it in his fingertips as Louis purses his lips around the joint and inhales. Holding the smoke in his mouth, he leans forward and carefully seals their lips together, transferring it into Harry’s open mouth. 

The jolt of electricity Harry gets when their lips meet zips throughout his entire body and travels all the way down to his toes. They curl underneath the water in pleasure and Harry’s brain short circuits. _Soft, soft, soft_ is the only thought he’s able to process; that and _more, please more_. 

But it’s not a kiss. _It isn’t_. No matter how much it may feel like one. It’s nothing. Not a big deal at all. It’s just something mates do, Zayn said so himself only a few minutes ago. Harry holds onto that thought like a life preserver as he tries to quell the panic rising in his chest – his heart racing, his hands shaking. His lips tingle with warmth as if Louis’ mouth has drawn all his nerve endings there and now they’re pulsing under the surface – aching and over sensitive – craving a touch he has no right to ask for, yearning for just another small taste of that indescribable bliss he had felt with Louis’ lips pressed against his. 

Except, of course it isn’t nothing. It _is_ a big deal. It _is_ more than just something mates do when one of them feels for the other the way Harry feels about Louis. That truth is as inescapable as it is inconvenient, and Harry feels like he can’t breathe under the weight of it pressing down on his lungs.  

Louis himself is breathing heavily, his eyes still locked on Harry’s. Every one of his exhales is matched with an inhale from Harry – Louis pushes air out and Harry pulls it in, greedy as always for anything of Louis’ that he can get. 

 _I need you to breathe_ , he thinks. _Loving you is air, loving you is breathing_. 

The other boys have gone deathly silent as they watch the moment transpire between Harry and Louis, and the air suddenly feels charged the way it does just before a thunderstorm. Niall’s lilting voice cuts through the fog that has settled around Harry’s head, effectively shaking him from his wayward thoughts and allowing him to resurface. 

“And on _that_ bombshell,” He announces in his very best imitation of former _Top Gear_ presenter Jeremy Clarkson, “it’s time to end. Thank you very much for watching. Goodnight!” 

It’s exactly what they all need to break the tension that hangs in the air, and Harry is so grateful for it. Louis chuckles and takes another drag from the spliff before passing it back to Zayn. When he climbs out of Harry’s lap and relocates to his previous position sitting next to him, Harry immediately grabs for another beer and takes a long pull. 

* 

An hour later, Harry is drunk. The other lads claimed exhaustion and headed off to bed a few minutes ago, leaving Louis and Harry completely alone in the hot tub. Between the alcohol and the small amount of marijuana he smoked, Harry feels completely relaxed and pleasantly buzzed, and with his relaxed state comes lowered inhibitions and a loose tongue. 

“Mm, you have the cutest nose I’ve ever seen.” He babbles inanely, tipping forward to press his forehead to Louis’, said nose bumping against Harry’s own.

Louis’ eyes are so fond when he pulls back to shake his head at him, his answering laugh so soft and even raspier than usual from the smoke. It’s a delicious, heady sound that cuts right through Harry’s body and makes his stomach clench. “Okay, weirdo. That’s enough of the hard stuff for you.”

“ ‘M not a weirdo.” Harry sniffs, going almost cross-eyed to maintain eye contact with an amused-looking Louis.

“Oh, but you are.” He insists with a pat to Harry’s cheek.

Harry resolutely ignores him, returning to his earlier train of thought. “It really is so cute, Lou. Like a little bunny.” He scrunches his nose up for emphasis.

Louis’ cheeks round with an endeared grin; his pale blue eyes glistening with warmth and affection as he reaches up to playfully bop Harry on the nose. “How did I know you’d be a lightweight?”

“Louuu,” Harry whines, drawing out the nickname a couple syllables, “stop being mean. I’m complimenting you and in return you’ve called me a weirdo and a lightweight. ‘S not very nice.”

“Aw, Hazza,” Louis simpers, “I’m only teasing, babe. I love the fact that you have such a low tolerance for illicit substances. You get all pouty and clingy, it’s very cute. And as far as the weirdo bit, you most definitely are.” Harry squawks, affronted, poking at Louis’ chest. “Buuut,” Louis continues pointedly, trying to hold in his laughter as Harry continues to prod at him clumsily, “it’s one of my favourite things about you. You’re the best kind of weird. There’s no one else quite like you.”

Louis pastes on a serene smile, wrapping his whole hand around Harry’s index finger and squeezing.

“Yeah?” Harry breathes, eyes gone round and wide as they flit between Louis’ face and the point of contact.

“Yeah, babe. My little weirdo.”

Harry’s heart soars at the casual possessiveness of Louis’ words, his cheeks warming pleasantly with a sense of pride; longing coursing through his veins. _I’ll be your anything. I just want to be yours._ Despite the thrill buzzing through his body, Harry can feel his lids growing heavier by the minute.

“Lou?”

“Hm?”

“ ‘M sleepy.”

“ ‘Course you are, love.” Louis chuckles, tracing his thumb gently along the hollow beneath Harry’s lower lash line. “Let me just finish this spliff, and we can head off to bed. Here, lay your head on me.” He encourages, squeezing the back of Harry’s neck and coaxing his head down onto his shoulder.

Harry obliges eagerly, reveling in the wet slide of their skin against each other as he tucks himself into Louis’ side. His eyelashes tremble, fluttering closed in overwhelmed bliss as Louis presses a kiss into his hair then turns away slightly and brings the joint up to his lips for a long drag.

“And you’ll give me a cuddle, won’t you, Lou? I wanna spoon.”

“Whatever you want, love.” He agrees easily. Harry preens and nuzzles further into Louis’ neck, daringly letting his lips brush over his collarbones. Louis huffs out a quiet laugh, grounding the joint into an ashtray on the edge of the hot tub. “Alright you little snuggle bug, let’s get you to bed.”

They head inside and finally make it to the loft after a bumbling, treacherous trek up the winding staircase wherein Louis saved Harry from certain death approximately fifty times. The sound of the other boys’ quiet snores and sleepy snuffles is there to greet them as they stumble across the room and fall into bed together as easily as falling back into an old habit. Once more the atmosphere around them feels thick and charged with the kind of electricity that makes your hair stand on end – memories of the first time they shared a bed all those years ago zipping through the air like bolts of lightning. Harry’s head feels foggy again – filled up and fuzzy with nostalgia. Despite the haze, all his synapses seem to be firing in rapid time, his body buzzing like a live wire with giddy anticipation at being back here in this place that means so much to him with this boy who means even more, and reliving a moment that feels like it altered the very fabric of Harry’s being, the essence of who he is. The memory of that first morning waking up with Louis – not just next to him, but tangled up with him, their chests pressed together and limbs intertwined like creeping ivy over a lattice – is one that Harry is certain will stay with him for the remainder of his existence.

Another memory sure to remain with him for eternity is that of Louis’ lips pressed against his for the very first time. As his eyes slip closed, Harry allows himself to believe that soon those same impossibly soft lips may be his to kiss whenever he pleases. With that thought echoing hopefully in his head and Louis’ strong arms wrapped securely around him, he drifts off, and for the first time his dreams can’t compete with his reality.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? This is the first time I feel slightly insecure/nervous posting a chapter for this story so I'd love to know your opinions. As always, thank you to everyone who takes the time to read this, your support means the world to me and is the reason I keep writing.


	5. We were just kids when we fell in love, not knowing what it was, I will not give you up this time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OT5 lads holiday continues with skiing and some steamy karaoke. Harry finally tells Louis how he feels about him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovelies!
> 
> I know, I know, I said I was going to try to be better about updating, but it is what it is. Bless you if you're still with me despite my being the slowest writer ever. 
> 
> At just over 20k, this is the longest chapter yet, so hopefully that ( as well as the content ;) ) makes up for the wait.
> 
> Also, I did manage to write and post two other fics since I posted the last chapter of this story. Thank you, by the way, to everyone who has read/commented/left kudos on either of those! I was a bit blown away by the response to the one shot I wrote that was inspired by _Medicine._ I've never gotten so many comments before, and it was absolutely lovely. 
> 
> Without further ado, here's the next chapter. Enjoy! Xx

  _Cold_. 

It’s the first thing Harry registers when he wakes up, before he even has the chance to open his eyes. He’s lying on his right side with his left arm stretched across the mattress and he feels… _nothing_. Nothing but cold, stale, empty sheets, which is strange considering that last night he fell asleep in the arms of the boy he loves. He blindly gropes around the bed for a few seconds – refusing to open his eyes and confront the painful reality that awaits him – searching out Louis or at least a lingering warmth left behind by his body heat, but he comes up empty. 

Louis is gone. 

When Harry does finally open his eyes, it’s not with the languid slow blinks of someone awakening from a blissful dream. Instead, he snaps them open as if being jarred from his sleep by a horrible nightmare. Because that’s what this feels like – a nightmare. 

Fragments of the night before flash through his mind at lightning speed, and he tries to slow them down, to make sense of them. It would be wrong to say he “remembers” their kiss (that wasn’t really a kiss) because that would imply that he was able to forget it in the first place, that there was a time when he was not actively thinking about it, and that would be a lie. Perhaps “recalls” is a better term to describe it. He _recalls_ the moment, and pulls it to the forefront of his mind where he forces himself to examine it. 

Maybe Louis is freaked out by what transpired between them. He’s always been able to read Harry like a book. Harry is honestly surprised that he has managed to keep his feelings a secret from him for this long with the way Louis is so fluent in decoding his body language and nonverbal expressions. And having their lips pressed together doesn’t exactly leave much room for interpretation. _God_ , Harry can only imagine what his face must have looked like. He was probably as transparent as a vapor, and Louis must have been able to tell that it meant more to Harry than just two lads sharing some smoke. _Fuck_. 

Anxiety creeps up Harry’s spine, and he feels that familiar sting in his nose that always serves as a precursor to a good cry – he’s starting to spiral out of control. He pushes the heels of his hands into his eyes in an attempt to ward off the unwanted tears, and inhales shakily. He doesn’t hear the soft pad of footsteps on the staircase over the rush of blood in his head and his heartbeat pounding in his ears, so he is startled upright in bed by the sound of Louis’ painfully familiar sleep-raspy voice hissing out a strained, “ _fuck!_ ” 

“Goddamn Liam Payne and all his fucking luggage! _Shit!_ ” Louis curses, having apparently just stubbed his toe on one of Liam’s cases. He limps across the loft, practically hopping on one foot as he struggles to maintain possession of a tray he’s carrying. “That hurt like a motherfucker,” he announces with a groan as he sets the tray down on the bed and collapses next to Harry on his back. He raises his leg up in the air, pulling his foot closer to his face and squinting behind his thick-framed black glasses as he inspects it for physical signs of damage. 

He’s so fucking cute that Harry feels all of his previous anxiety drain from his body in a rush, like a candle being snuffed out. Louis tilts his chin up to look at him, a pained scowl still on his face, and Harry absolutely melts. _God, I love you so much_ , is the only thought in his head as he looks down at Louis timidly with sympathetic eyes and his lips quirked in a tiny, lopsided grin. 

“Y’alright, Lou?” He breathes softly, inclining his head towards where Louis is still clutching his foot. 

“No, I’m bloody well not!” Louis huffs with a flare of his nostrils. “ _Fucking Liam_ ,” he mutters darkly, rolling his eyes before turning them on Harry and trapping him with the full weight of his intense cerulean gaze. “Kiss it for me, Hazza?” He sulks, pushing his lower lip out in a pout. “Please?” 

He turns his body sideways on the bed and drags his injured foot up Harry’s outer thigh with a ridiculous waggle of his brows, his thick fringe of lashes fluttering against his cheeks behind his lenses like he just can’t help himself. 

Harry sighs in faux exasperation as Louis looks up at him expectantly and prods him in the chest with his big toe. He’s so fucking easy for it he should probably be embarrassed, but he’d do anything for Louis. He wraps his fingers carefully around Louis’ ankle and brings his foot closer to his face, wrinkling his nose slightly to tease him. 

“Oi!” Louis cries in offense, trying to kick Harry’s shoulder. “Don’t act like it smells, I just showered!” 

“Okay, okay!” Harry giggles in surrender as Louis succeeds in kicking him, curling his toes and digging them into the skin just above Harry’s collarbone. He tightens his grip on Louis’ ankle, squeezing it pointedly to stop the assault until Louis forfeits with a bright laugh and allows Harry to move his foot away. 

“Go on then,” he encourages cheekily, nodding to Harry. 

Harry shakes his head, chuckling to himself as he leans forward and presses a soft, gentle kiss to Louis’ toe. Their eyes lock and it hits Harry like a freight train. There’s nothing erotic about the kiss, but it’s strangely sensual, and Harry thinks it’s possibly one of the most intimate things he’s ever done. Louis is looking at him in a way that makes his breath come short and his heart feel heavy in his chest, and all Harry wants is to kiss every inch of him, to get down on his knees and press his cheek against Louis’ hip and whisper, _I would do anything for you_. Instead, he clears his throat and carefully sets Louis’ foot down on the bed between them, his eyes feeling suspiciously wet again. 

“So what’s all this then?” He coughs out, nodding to the forgotten tray at the foot of the bed. 

“Oh,” Louis chirps, grinning in self-satisfaction as he proudly nudges it closer to Harry, “I made you breakfast.” 

On the tray, there’s a light blue ceramic bowl, a spoon, and a cup of tea. Harry peers into the bowl only to find it’s filled with cereal, and playfully arches a brow in question. 

“It’s the only thing I knew for sure I wouldn’t burn, okay? You know I’m shit at cooking,” Louis gripes with a darling little pout and a crease between his brows.  

 _Seriously?_ How is Harry meant to be around him and not burst with affection when he’s so damn endearing? _God_ , there’s not another person on the planet who could compete with how sweet and thoughtful and adorable Louis is. No wonder he was born on Christmas Eve. He may as well come with a bow on his head, because he’s a gift and a wonder to all those fortunate enough to know him. 

Harry winces when he takes a bite of cereal and finds it to be ridiculously soggy. He tries to hide his distaste at the unappealing texture as he forces himself to swallow, but as has been previously established, Louis can read him like the back of his hand. He grimaces apologetically and mumbles out a sheepish, “maybe I should have waited to pour in the milk?” 

Harry is having an extremely difficult time containing the fondness he feels, and then he makes the tragic mistake of _looking_ at Louis. He’s biting his lip with his brows drawn together earnestly, and Harry feels another sharp tug of affection on his heartstrings. Then Louis lifts his shoulders in a shrug and mutters, “oops?” and Harry bursts out laughing.

He’s so overwhelmed with relief that the events of the previous night don’t appear to have had a negative effect on their friendship in the slightest. He figures that when two people are as close as he and Louis are, there is probably very little that could transpire between them that would make things awkward.

On the other hand, he finds there is a niggling thread of doubt at the back of his mind that maybe the reason why there’s no awkwardness is because Louis is so secure in the platonic nature of their friendship that he can’t possibly entertain the idea of anything else, and therefore knows that a little bit of shotgunning is nothing to bat an eye at. After all, why would it be? As Zayn had said, he and Louis used to do it all the time and they were nothing more than just mates, so why would it be any different for Louis to do it with Harry? Harry feels his heart sink a little at the thought, that seed of doubt implanting itself further in his mind by the minute until he is once again questioning whether he really is ready to risk telling Louis how he feels.

He shakes his head in an attempt to rid himself of the unwelcome thoughts. He _committed_ to this, he _planned_ this, he discussed this with his mum and Gemma and with the lads, he finished the song he wrote for Louis. Now is not the time for getting cold feet. Harry is not a quitter. He will just have to find a way to push his insecurities aside and press on. _I have loved him since we were eighteen,_ he repeats in his head like a mantra, latching onto the words – words derived from the _lyrics_ he penned with his own hand for the song that he will soon sing for Louis. _I have waited long enough_.

He eats the whole damn bowl of cereal without complaint, and with Louis watching him and beaming with pride, he’s not even bothered by how soggy it is. 

* 

The boys unanimously decide to have a lazy morning, and spend it lounging about on the sofas in the loft, chatting and dozing as they watch a couple films on the flat screen. When lunchtime rolls around, Harry whips up his recipe for apple pecan chicken salad, which happens to be Liam’s favourite. They spread it on fresh croissants from one of the local bakeries to make sandwiches, and the five of them eat happily whilst discussing their plans for the rest of the day. They’re meant to spend the afternoon skiing and snowboarding over in Zermatt, and then head back to Adalheid to ring in the New Year at one of the local pubs. Once they are all pleasantly full and sufficiently outfitted for the elements, they head out to the train station. 

It’s nearly half one by the time they get off the train in central Zermatt and take the bus to the ski resort area where they prepare to ride the lift that will let them off at the Gornergrat piste. Harry and Liam are the only two skiing while Louis, Zayn, and Niall have all opted to snowboard. 

Liam grew up in an affluent family similar to Harry’s, and though his family didn’t have a second home like the Styles-Twist clan, the Paynes spent most of their holidays at a ski resort in France. As a result, Liam is quite the proficient skier, better even than Harry, and Louis loves to rib the two of them for being “posh boys.” 

Although he had been a natural when Harry had first taught him how to ski all those years ago, Louis soon found that he much more fancied snowboarding as he and Zayn had apparently spent an inordinate amount of time skateboarding back in sixth form and therefore were more comfortable on a single board. Niall preferred snowboarding because he claimed that it, quote, “ _just looks more badass!_ ” 

“Don’t know if I’ll even be able to board with my foot injury,” Louis sniffs once they reach the loading zone for the lifts, throwing a pointed glare at Liam. He had been tearing into him all morning about the incident in the loft, really playing it up because there were few things that Louis loved more than getting a rise out of Liam. 

“Oh my god!” Liam scoffs with a roll of his eyes. “You stubbed your toe, you bloody drama queen. It’s not like it’s broken or summat.” 

Harry tucks a fond smile into the palm of his gloved hand when he sees Louis gearing up for what is sure to be a scathingly sassy retort, but Zayn – ever the peacemaker – cuts him off at the pass before he has a chance to do anything more than puff up his chest and square his shoulders in what is probably meant to be a threatening manner yet only manages to make him look irresistibly adorable. 

“Now, lads,” Zayn chastises, his tone purposefully patronising and his amber eyes amused as he steps between Louis and Liam with both arms raised to hold them back, as if their playful bickering would ever actually result in a legitimate physical altercation, “can’t we all just get along?” 

Louis keeps up the charade of being properly cross for another moment or two, grumbling something that sounds suspiciously like, “how about I break it off in your arse then, Payno?” and Harry has to stifle another giggle behind his hand. Few things tick up his fond metre as much as a sassy Louis, and he’s already having a hard enough time controlling himself when the urge to kiss him is damn near overwhelming. 

Thankfully, Niall – delightfully random little ray of Irish sunshine that he is – chooses that moment to make a beeline for an open lift where he plops himself down and immediately starts up an obnoxiously off key rendition of _Sit Next To Me_ by Foster The People in an effort to lure Louis into sitting with him. Louis tilts his head back, hysterical laughter bubbling from his mouth like the eruption of a volcano. It’s such a sweet, beautiful sound, and Harry wants to lie down in it, to wrap it around himself and hear nothing else for eternity. It’s his favourite sound in all the world by a landslide. 

Louis shakes his head and rolls his eyes as Niall continues to serenade him, crooning the words at the top of his lungs and garnering plenty of amused looks from their fellow skiers. With a long-suffering sigh that’s laced with traces of his waning laughter, Louis gives Harry’s forearm a comforting squeeze before he lopes off to join Niall on the chairlift, dragging Zayn along with him and making a joke about the boarders having to stick together. He’s so lithe and graceful despite the bulky snow gear he’s wearing that Harry can’t help but admire him. His body floods with warmth and affection as he watches Louis squeeze in next to Niall and immediately wrap him up in a headlock. 

Liam sidles up to Harry and bumps their shoulders together – his reluctant amusement evident in the tone of his soft chuckling as he takes in the scene their friends are making. “Shall we?” He suggests with a nod, the two of them heading over to claim the empty chairlift in front of the three other lads. 

“See you at the top, posh boys!” Louis hollers just as the lift begins to ascend. 

It’s overcast and cold, the clouds swollen and heavy-looking in a way that promises snow fall at some point or another, but the visibility is still remarkably good for the last day of December, and that’s all they can ask for really. No matter how many times he bears witness to it, the view from atop the lift never fails to take Harry’s breath away. He feels small – dwarfed by the awe-inspiring magnificence and raw, natural beauty laid out before them. It’s a feeling he’s always appreciated, the quiet contemplation of being in the presence of something so much bigger than himself. It never ceases to make him feel somehow both fragile and untouchable, mortal, yet infinite. 

He’s interrupted from his existential pondering by the sound of Niall’s lilting voice and boisterous laugh. “Hey, Haz! Li!” The Irish boy calls, and Harry turns around just in time to see Louis and Niall sticking their tongues out to lick the metal pole suspending their chairlift to the cable. _Idiots_. Fuck, Harry loves his boys so much. 

“Tay a ihh-err,” comes Niall’s muffled request, nearly indecipherable with his tongue stuck to the pole, but Harry figures out what he’s asking for anyway and pulls out his phone to _take a picture_. 

Grinning to himself, he opens his camera app and frames the shot. Niall turns his body as much as possible towards Harry, looking ecstatic as he poses with two thumbs up. Zayn, too, paints a lovely picture next to them, laughing hysterically with his head thrown back, but it’s Louis who draws Harry’s eye. _Of course it is_ , because if there is one universal and unshakable truth it’s that Harry Styles will always look for Louis Tomlinson – in every crowd (whether it’s a packed out pub or the familiar company of their three best mates) and in every set of circumstances. His eyes were made to seek out Louis, and they find him now. His handsome face is scrunched up from his laughter, his bright blue eyes reduced to mere slits, and it makes him look so young, so carefree. 

His beauty is like the sun – something _felt_ rather than seen – and Harry has never known anyone who’s more vibrant or more full of life. He desires nothing other than to spend the rest of his days learning and growing and having adventures with Louis by his side. 

There’s this poet Harry follows on instagram who goes by Atticus, and one of Harry’s favourite posts is a quote that reads, “ _I want to be with someone who dreams of doing everything in life and nothing on rainy Sunday afternoons_ ,” and that just about sums up everything he wants his relationship with Louis to be. He wants to travel to places they’ve never been before and discover new things and fall in love with the world through Louis’ eyes. Conversely, he wants to wake up next to him and watch the sunrise paint his bare skin gold and stay in bed all day doing nothing at all. 

 _Soon_ , he tells himself, and wills it to be true. _Soon, I will be yours and you will be mine._  

*

Time always seems to lose its meaning when the five of them are together like this. It’s marked not by minutes or hours, but by the amount of fond eye rolls Harry gets when he tells a joke ( _What do you call an ice house without a loo? An ig! Get it? Like igloo),_ the number of times Zayn threatens to strangle Niall if he doesn’t stop singing _Let It Go_ from _Frozen_ , the sound of Liam’s booming guffaw echoing off the slopes of the mountains, and the way the dying light catches on the sharp cut of Louis’ cheekbones. It’s measured in moments and memories, and in that way they are impervious to its passing.

As the sun dips below the horizon, they find themselves sitting huddled together atop a snowdrift. They enjoy the last few feeble rays before the sun sets on 2017 and the gilded apricots, rich violets, and brilliant golds painting the sky are replaced by milky twilight.

It starts to snow just as darkness fully descends, but Harry is warm where he sits wedged between Louis and Zayn. The dark haired boy is too preoccupied with laughing at Niall’s solo reenactment of the king of the world scene from _Titanic_ and Liam’s resulting distress at him standing far too close to the edge of the summit to pay Harry and Louis any mind.

The two of them converse quietly, reflecting on the year that is nearly behind them, and Harry finds himself shamelessly watching Louis’ lips as he speaks. Now that he has gotten a taste, he can’t seem to stop looking at them. He’s mad with want—with _need_. Shotgunning in a hot tub with their three best mates acting as the peanut gallery may not have been the way he had pictured their lips meeting for the first time, but he feels like it was a promise, a prelude to what they could have. And the chemistry between them had been palpable.

He thanks God that he waited so long to do something that reckless, because Harry knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he would not have been able to contain himself had they shared something like that earlier in their relationship. He simply wouldn’t have had the strength to survive it. He recalls the night of Gemma’s wedding, the kiss Louis had pressed to his cheek—so tender, so pure—and how his skin had burned from the touch for _days_ afterwards, how he _still_ aches when he thinks back to that night and, particularly, that moment. No, he’s certain, there’s no way he would have survived anything more without the security of an expressed commitment between them.

The next time he tastes Louis, the next time those heavenly soft lips of his graze Harry’s own, it will be after Harry has laid himself bare and offered up his heart, his love, his _everything_ for Louis to have for his own. The next time they kiss it will be the beginning of their love story and every kiss thereafter will be a cursive line of the most beautiful prose to fill those pages.

What they shared may not have been a proper kiss, but it was a glimpse of what could be, a flicker of a flame that had the potential to ignite and consume, and Harry could already feel himself burning just from that one small taste.

Fireworks start going off from the resort lodge in the valley below, and instead of looking at the sky, Harry watches the explosions of light and colour in Louis’ eyes. It takes a strength he didn’t even know he possessed not to kiss him right then and there.

 _Soon_ , he reminds himself for what seems like the thousandth time that day. _Please, God, let me have this soon._

* 

They are seated at a table inside a pub called _The Cable Car_ in the heart of Adalheid. Liam and Zayn have wandered off to grab the first round of drinks and Niall is hanging over the back of their booth to chat up one of the girls at the table next to theirs, obviously trying to come across as worldly and clever as he informs her that the word karaoke is Japanese for ‘empty orchestra.’ Harry’s pretty sure he learned that from _How I Met Your Mother_ , but he bites his tongue and holds back an amused snort because it seems to actually be working for Niall. 

Louis catches his eye from across the table, and Harry can tell by the look on his face that they’re thinking the exact same thing. It makes him feel warm all the way down to the tips of his previously frozen toes. There’s something so comforting and lovely about always being on the same page, how they can communicate so seamlessly without even bothering to use words. It’s effortless, like they’re tuned in to their very own frequency, and intimate, _so wonderfully intimate_. It makes Harry ache; ache with how much he loves that feeling of familiarity and closeness, and ache with how much he wants – no _craves_ – more. 

His reverie is interrupted when Liam and Zayn return from the bar and Niall momentarily abandons his quest to get laid in favour of tugging on Harry’s arm and squawking about something called a _shotski_. 

“What are you on about, Ireland?” Louis asks over the rim of the pint glass Liam just handed him as he and Zayn slide into the booth to join them. 

Apparently a shotski is pretty much exactly what it sounds like. It’s a ski with a number of shot glasses adhered to it, and seems to be some sort of rite of passage in this particular pub if the cheers and chants that ring out as Niall brings the thing over are anything to go by. 

He drops the contraption onto the table with a resounding thud and a flourish of his hand. “What’ll it be, lads? Vodka, whiskey, or tequila?” 

“No tequila!” Harry and Louis shout in unison, glaring pointedly at Niall. 

They table erupts in laughter, the five of them undoubtedly recalling the time back in their second term of their first year of uni when Harry and Niall’s housemates had hosted a tarts and vicars party and convinced Niall to make the punch. The lads had all been there, but Liam apparently took the footie coach’s _no drinking during the season_ rule far more seriously than Louis did, and Zayn was complaining about still being hung-over from the night before, so Harry and Louis were the only ones to fall victim to Niall’s deceptively delicious and extremely potent tequila cocktail. 

The two of them had woken up together in a bathtub with matching butterfly tattoos on their lower backs (temporary, _thank God_ , though it took them a distressing amount of time to figure that out) and absolutely no recollection of how they got there. Harry’s still not one hundred percent certain of what all occurred that night, but the hangover from hell and the tramp stamp that stubbornly remained on his skin for over two weeks no matter how hard he scrubbed at it were enough to make him swear off tequila for life. 

“Whiskey it is then!” Niall chirps, somehow summoning a waitress out of thin air to pour the amber liquid into the five shot glasses adhered to the ski. Sometimes Harry thinks that Louis’ teasing about Niall being a leprechaun isn’t too far off the mark. He certainly has a way of making alcohol magically appear (and he’s even better at making it disappear). 

They all shuffle to the same side of the booth, Niall passing off his phone to the girl he had been chatting up and asking her to film the spectacle. 

“A toast!” Liam calls out just as they’re all about to lift the thing. 

“Excellent call, Payno!” Niall commends with a huge grin. “Hazza, Lou, Leemo, Z, you lads are the best mates I could ever ask for. I love you bastards a whole fucking lot!” 

“To friendship,” Zayn says succinctly. 

“Always,” Harry agrees, aiming a grin at each of the other four boys. 

“Friends forever!” Niall cheers drunkenly. “And to the New Year, let’s make it the best one yet!” 

Harry couldn’t agree more, and he plans on starting that particular resolution right away. 

“Happy New Year, lads!” Louis choruses. “2018 let’s ‘av it!” 

“Here, here!” Says Liam, and with that the cluster of people who have gathered around them start counting down from three. 

When they reach one, the five of them lift the ski to their lips, and together they slam back the shots of whiskey. The alcohol burns down the back of Harry’s throat, and settles warm and heavy in his stomach as the pub around them erupts with cheers. 

Niall whoops and pounds his fist on the table, shoving Harry out of the booth so he can get to his feet and declare, “It’s karaoke time!” 

* 

Karaoke has long been a tradition among the five of them, dating back to the time Niall entered them into a karaoke competition as a joke, and Louis had insisted they honour their commitment when he found out the event was a fundraiser for a children’s hospice charity.

They ended up performing *NSYNC’s classic, _Bye Bye Bye_ complete with the original choreography. Louis was the only one of them who could even remotely dance, and he made the rest of them look downright awful by comparison. Being naturally clumsy, Harry had accepted his lot in life and was pretty used to embarrassing himself, so he figured a little public humiliation for the sake of charity wasn’t asking too much. Niall had no shame, so he looked like he was having the time of his life dancing around like an absolute idiot, but Liam and Zayn had been completely and utterly hopeless. Especially Liam, who couldn’t dance to save his life, but Harry couldn’t help but to be shocked that Zayn was so awful. For someone so graceful and who had such good spatial awareness, he was a truly terrible dancer.

Despite their subpar moves, their voices had sounded spectacular together, enough for them to actually win the competition and for Niall to spend the next several months insisting they were all wasting their time with uni when they could obviously make it big as a proper boy band. He harassed them all until they agreed to attend the monthly karaoke nights at one of the local pubs, and eventually it became tradition. Some of Harry’s fondest memories from his uni years were born on a poorly lit stage in that tiny pub with a potent cocktail of alcohol and adrenaline thrumming in his veins and his boys cheering him on from their cramped booth in the corner. 

As it turns out, the girl Niall had been chatting up from the table next to theirs is a college student from America, and is in Switzerland on holiday with a group of her sorority sisters. They love karaoke, and Niall apparently - much to the amusement of Harry, Louis, Liam, and Zayn who watch their Irish friend looking like he’s in absolute heaven as he gets roped in to duet after duet with each one of the girls. When he manages to pry himself away and return to their table to down his pint, Louis teases him for hogging the stage. 

“Alright, if you’re so concerned, why don’t you get up there then?” Niall challenges, tipping his empty pint glass towards Louis with a playfully arched brow. 

His eyes are bright, his cheeks ruddy from the alcohol he’s consumed, and it’s clear that he knows exactly what he’s doing – he’s baiting Louis, playing at his competitive nature. Louis never backs down from a challenge and Niall knows that better than anyone seeing as how he’s been the one to throw down the metaphorical gauntlet more often than not in the past. The two of them have done some truly ridiculous shit for the sake of a dare or simply in the name of competition over the course of their friendship. There was a time during uni when Harry had seriously worried about them giving Liam an aneurism from the stress he underwent bearing witness to all they got up to. 

“Hold my beer, Haz,” Louis instructs with a smirk, taking one last gulp of his pint before pushing it into Harry’s waiting hand. 

“Ow ow! Get it, Tommo!” Niall hollers raucously as Louis slinks off to go put his song in. There are a handful of people in the queue in front of him, so it’s a few minutes before he gets his chance in the spotlight. 

When he does finally take the stage, Harry all but melts in his seat. Louis is absolutely stunning, and Harry loves every single version of him; from the sleepy-soft, bleary-eyed boy who gives the best cuddles and remains grumpy and adorably incoherent until he has his morning cuppa, to the fiercely protective, sharp-tongued sass master who can tear down anyone who dares oppose him or cross someone he loves with a mere quirk of his brow, to the quiet, tender-hearted angel who listens intently and compassionately to Harry’s fears, soothes his anxieties, and is the keeper of (almost) all his secrets. Harry loves all those versions of him, and every single one in between, but there’s something about this Louis – this confident, charismatic Louis who works the stage like he owns it, like he was born to do so – that never fails to take Harry’s breath away.

He has one hand pressed against his diaphragm, his eyes narrowed in concentration as he sings his heart out to _Beat It_ by Michael Jackson, but his expression is coy, almost like he’s daring you to look away. It’s impossible to do so, he demands attention then holds it hostage until he’s ready to relinquish it. He holds every eye in the room, and all the while he remains self-effacing and heart-wrenchingly humble, completely oblivious to the fact that he is beauty personified, a literal ray of sunshine. 

“He’s something else isn’t he?” Liam asks, almost like he’s reading Harry’s mind. His warm brown eyes are practically glowing as he looks back and forth between Harry and Louis up on the stage. 

Harry goes to answer, but is momentarily distracted by a flash of movement entering his line of sight and partially obstructing his view of Louis. Lord knows how he managed it, but Niall has just pulled Zayn out onto the dance floor in front of the stage and the two of them are dancing ridiculously, Zayn looking near tears he’s laughing so hard as Niall calls out increasingly more crude comments to Louis. It makes Harry smile, seeing Zayn let loose like this. 

He thinks back to when the five of them had met and how easily their friendship had formed, how strong that bond has grown over the years. They each bring things to the table that the others need. Liam is warm and open, immediately putting you at ease upon meeting him and making you feel welcome. He’s also levelheaded and calm. He provides a voice of reason to their little clique, and in turn is loosened up by the more carefree nature of Niall and Louis. Zayn was so quiet and serious when they first met, a sensitive and intellectual soul. He has always made a great listener and it was a beautiful thing to witness him coming out of his shell over the years and revealing a lighter, more fun-loving side of his personality. He definitely knows how to be a cheeky little shit when the occasion calls for it, though, and his quick wit and understated humour are always a pleasant surprise. Niall is the life of the party and always has been. He makes everything more chaotic and more fun, always up for anything and never without a smile on his face. He and Louis are downright trouble when they join forces, and he brings out Liam’s dormant wild side and helps Zayn feel more comfortable in his own skin. Louis, with his infectious laugh and selfless regard for others, is the glue that holds their group together. He and Liam tease and fight like brothers, Niall hero worships him, he’s Zayn’s confidant and partner in crime, and to Harry he is absolutely everything.  

“Yeah,” Harry exhales slowly, shaking himself as he resurfaces from his musings, his eyes finding their way to Louis once again. He has the entire pub under his spell. He’s the physical embodiment of magic. Harry couldn’t look away if he tried. “Yeah, he is.”  

“Why haven’t you told him yet, Haz? You said you were going to. What are you waiting for?” Liam wonders, tilting his head to the side slightly to study Harry. His expression is kind and open, brows furrowed and eyes curious. 

“I don’t know,” Harry huffs, all his flimsy excuses crumbling like a house of cards, “but I think I’m done waiting.” 

“ ‘Atta boy!” Liam beams as Harry drains the remainder of his pint.  

* 

Louis’ lively performance is enough to spark the commencement of another time-honoured tradition within their group. They have an ongoing competition that dates back to one of their first karaoke nights, wherein they each sing what they consider to be the sexiest song, and see whose performance earns the biggest reaction from the other people in the pub. The winner gets bragging rights and their tab covered by the other boys for the whole night. 

“Right, so the usual wager then, lads?” Niall asks, rubbing his hands together in front of his chest when Louis returns to their table. 

Liam, ever enthusiastic and aided by the strong, locally brewed Swiss beer and his endearingly low alcohol tolerance, nearly trips over himself volunteering to be the first one up to perform. It’s comical how the instant he steps on stage his persona goes from innocent boy next door to the source of every teenage girl’s parents’ nightmares. Louis loves to tease him about how contrived and ridiculous his expression looks when he’s trying to be sexy, but it seems to be working on their fellow pub go-ers, as Liam absolutely kills Bruno Mars’ _Versace On The Floor_ to the delighted cheers of every female in the room. 

His cheeks are flushed with colour, and there’s a slight sheen of sweat on his brow when he settles back into the booth next to Zayn, looking simultaneously relaxed and exhilarated in a way that Harry knows only comes from the high of performing on stage in front of an audience. 

Louis, of course, starts right in on the trash talk, his electric blue eyes dancing with mirth as he leans over the table. “I’ve seen your flat, Payno, and the only thing on the floor is your sweaty gym socks,” he ribs. “No Versace in sight.” 

“Oi!” Liam grunts indignantly, pointing an accusing finger at Louis’ chest. “You’re one to talk, Tommo. Can you even see the floor in your flat?” 

Louis snorts and rolls his eyes, clearly unimpressed with Liam’s attempt at a retort. “‘Course I can,” he states sassily, pausing to sling his arm around Harry’s shoulders and pull him closer into his side. Harry automatically goes loose and pliant, his body slumping against Louis’ like a marionette that’s had its strings cut. “The floor is spotless thanks to my lovely flat mate, Harold here. Fuck, you should see this boy with a hoover,” Louis lets out a low whistle, throwing Harry a cheeky wink. “It’s honestly swoon-worthy. Gonna have m’self a proper weep if he ever leaves me.” 

Harry can feel the warmth spreading across the apples of his cheeks as his blood pools beneath the skin there. Nothing makes him blush quite as easily as Louis complimenting him on his domestic tendencies. He feels himself pale slightly as the rest of Louis’ words register. The suggestion that Harry would ever willingly leave him is utterly absurd and has something cold and bitter twisting in Harry’s gut. “Never, Lou,” he promises fiercely, staring intently into the cerulean depths of Louis’ eyes. “I’d never leave you.” 

Louis is looking back at him just as intently, an unreadable emotion clouding his ordinarily clear irises. Before Harry has the chance to decipher it, he’s startled by the sound of Niall slamming his empty pint glass down on the table with a bright bark of a laugh. 

“Christ, would you wankers just fucking get married already? Actual sex has got to be less nauseating than listening to the verbal equivalent of you two sucking each other off all the time.” 

Louis’ eyes linger on Harry a moment longer before he’s turning away to lay into Niall. Harry feels a bit like he’s underwater, still trapped in the haze brought on by the intensity of the moment he and Louis just shared. Liam catches his eye from across the table and shoots him a look of concern. Zayn seems to cotton on to the situation as well, noticing Harry’s disquiet and seemingly sensing his need to steer the conversation in another direction. He provides as good a distraction as any as he volunteers to be the next one to sing.

The air turns light and playful once again when Niall and Louis stop wrestling each other long enough to harass and catcall Zayn as he gets to his feet and strides over to the stage. Harry lets the tension drain from his body, his shoulders sagging in relief as he listens to their cajoling. He even finds himself joining in as the other three remaining boys nearly piss themselves laughing over Niall’s impression of Zayn’s signature smoldering stare. The Irish lad sobers rather quickly, however, when Zayn is barely two lines into the first verse of _Earned It_ by The Weeknd and already has an audience of adoring, swooning girls crowding the dance floor to get closer to him. The lot of them look about two seconds away from throwing their panties on stage at his feet like proper groupies. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Niall complains. “What’s the point of any of us even trying? He’s the only one out of all of us who isn’t single, and yet he’s the one who’s going to be fighting all the lasses off with a bloody stick! Fucking unbelievable!” 

A musical peal of laughter bubbles out of Louis, and he ruffles Niall’s tousled hair affectionately. “Well, if it makes you feel better, Haz and I aren’t quite as taken with the female gender as the rest of you lads, so at least that’s two less stunningly gorgeous blokes you have to worry about getting in your way.” He smiles smugly and nudges Harry with his elbow. “Ain’t that right, babe?” 

Niall protests before Harry has a chance to do anything more than beam dopily at Louis for calling him stunningly gorgeous. “Yeah, but the girls don’t bloody know that!” The Irish lad counters. “All Hazza’s gotta do is flash his dimples and flip his curls around a little and they’ll be arse over tits for ‘im. Same with you, Tommo. The moment they see your arse it’ll be game over. I am secure enough in my sexuality to admit that even _I_ have had impure thoughts about it once or twice. You’re wearing fucking _salopettes_ and it still looks fucking obscene, mate. Christ, I need to find m’self some uglier friends!” 

Louis chuckles delightedly at Niall’s apparent distress, once again wrapping his arm around Harry’s shoulders in camaraderie. Zayn returns somewhere in the middle of Niall’s rant, he and Liam both looking on at the spectacle in amusement. Finally, after much flattery and ego-stroking, the four of them manage to coerce Niall into taking his turn. 

He doesn’t naturally ooze sensuality the way Zayn does without even trying, and he doesn’t attempt to be sexy like Liam, but he’s undeniably charming on stage. He exudes an energy so magnetic and contagious that it brings a smile to the face of everyone watching. He lights up the stage like the bright little ball of Irish sunshine he is as he sings _Shiver_ by Maroon 5, and gets a standing ovation to boot. 

When it comes time for Harry to take the stage, he’s relaxed and jovial. His fingertips tingle with the familiar buzz of adrenaline that comes from being in front of an audience. In his daily life, Harry knows he’s typically fairly reserved, more often than not shying away from the spotlight and choosing to fade into the background, but on stage he revels in the feeling of having everyone in the room watching him. The only high more addicting is that of having Louis’ attention on him, and with him in the audience right now, Harry has both and he’s feeling a little dizzy as a result.

Emboldened by the excited chatter of the crowd and the delicious weight of Louis’ eyes on him, Harry decides he’s going to make this performance unforgettable. He’s adjusting the height of the microphone stand whilst he waits for his song to queue up when Louis’ high, raspy voice cuts through the din of the pub.

“Show us your tits!” He yells cheekily with both hands cupped around his mouth. 

There’s a chorus of agreement from some of the female bar patrons, along with a couple wolf whistles. Niall whoops and pumps his fist in the air beside Louis while Liam and Zayn laugh along from the other side of the table. 

Harry smiles at the ground bashfully, his cheeks heating under the attention and from Louis’ teasing. “It’s too early and I’ve only had one drink,” he laughs. “So that would be a maybe.” 

Louis purses his lips against a grin across the room, his eyes soft and fond as he watches Harry. The audience only gets rowdier when Harry’s chosen song starts up, _Sex On Fire_ by Kings of Leon. The look on Louis’ face is incredibly satisfying when he recognises the melody and pales significantly. Harry smirks and sings the first verse right to him, refusing to break eye contact. 

 

_Lay where you’re laying_

_Don’t make a sound_

_I know they’re watching, they’re watching_

_All the commotion_

_The kiddie like play_

_It has people talking, talking_

_You, your sex is on fire_

 

He sees Louis’ throat constrict as he swallows and fidgets a little in his seat. 

 

_The dark of an alley_

_The breaking of day_

 

Louis’ eyes are burning into him, and he loses himself completely in the heady, addictive feeling and the eroticism of the lyrics spilling from his lips. He slowly grinds up against the microphone stand as he croons the next line: 

 

 _Head while I’m driving, I’m driving_  

 

With the way Louis is looking at him, Harry’s defenses are down, his inhibitions significantly dampened, and, as such, he’s powerless against it when the images that coincide with his words start to creep into his mind. Images of Louis’ head between his thighs, his vivid pink lips stretched taut around Harry’s cock as he looks up at him from beneath his thick fringe of lashes. Louis’ eyebrows pulled together in determination, his fringe falling into his eyes, sweat beading on his upper lip, his cheeks hollowing to exentuate their absolutely lethal bone structure, his hand disappearing beneath the waistband of his own trousers as he starts to pump himself frantically… 

 _Fuck_. 

Harry sways on his feet as he tries to regain control of his wayward thoughts enough to sing the chorus. His voice is deeper and huskier than he’s ever heard it, clearly shot from arousal, and there’s no way it’s not obvious to every single person in the pub, but his eyes don’t stray from Louis for a second. They might as well be the only two people in the room. And the room might as well be on fire. 

 

_Soft lips are open_

_Them knuckles are pale_

_Feels like you’re dying, you’re dying_

_You, your sex is on fire_

_Consumed_

_With what’s to transpire_  

 

He’s so turned on, so caught up in the crackle of electricity that zips through the air like lightning as his and Louis’ eyes remain locked on each other. He’s hard and aching right there for everyone to see and somehow it only makes him feel hotter. It’s exhilarating and disorienting, and he feels a little out of control. More than anything, he wants Louis to be feeling even a fraction of what he’s feeling, to be at least half as affected by this as he is. He certainly _looks_ affected, Harry muses to himself as he watches the rapid rise and fall of Louis’ chest – the movement so pronounced that it can be seen even from across the room. 

 

_Hot as a fever_

_Rattle of bones_

_I could just taste it, taste it_

 

_But it’s not forever_

_But it’s just tonight_

_Oh, we’re still the greatest_

_The greatest_

_The greatest_

 

As the final chorus approaches, Harry goes in for the kill – sinking to his knees and throwing his head back as he growls out the last few lyrics. When he opens his eyes to the sound of deafening applause, Louis is nowhere to be seen. Before the panic can fully set in, he catches sight of Niall throwing his hands up in the air and mouthing what Harry’s pretty certain is _for fuck’s sake!_ Harry smiles like a loon as he modestly clasps his hands together in front of his chest and takes a small bow. He saunters off the stage and back to his boys – his cheeks delightfully warm and most definitely pink from all the raucous cheers and applause he gets from the crowd. 

“What the fuck, H?” Niall immediately complains, cuffing Harry on the shoulder. “Forget the sex, are you trying to set the bloody _pub_ on fire!? _Jesus_.” 

Harry ignores him, turning instead to Zayn to ask, “Where’s Lou?” 

Zayn’s full lips twist into a smirk, his ochre eyes sparkling with mirth. “He went to grab another drink before putting his song in. Think he was a bit... _flustered_ by the little show you just put on up there, H.” 

Behind Zayn, Liam snorts into his pint glass, taking a gulp and muttering something that sounds like, “I’ll say.” 

“Think I’d be a bit worried if I were you, mate,” Zayn chuckles, taking a sip of his own drink and wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist, a look of pure delight on his face. “You know Lou never backs down from a challenge, and if he’s going to try and top your performance, _well_ —” 

“Then it’s about to get hot in here!” Liam giggles, finishing Zayn’s aborted statement. 

Zayn inclines his head and he lifts his pint glass in acknowledgement as if Liam took the words right out of his mouth. 

Just then, Niall thumps Harry on the back and grabs hold of his shoulders. “Hey, look! He’s up,” he announces gleefully, completely oblivious to Harry's distress as per usual. 

Harry can’t bring himself to watch as Louis takes the stage. He gulps as he slides into the booth next to Niall, trying to regulate his breathing. As soon as he hears the very familiar opening notes of Louis’ chosen song, he knows the boys are right. He’s well and truly fucked. 

 

_The club isn’t the best place to find a lover_

_So the bar is where I go_

_Me and my friends at the table doing shots_

_Drinking fast and then we talk slow_  

 

This past June, Louis had surprised Harry with tickets to see Ed Sheeran live at the O2. He had called in every favour, and used every bit of clout he had from working at Radio One to get them as close to the stage as possible. It had honestly been one of the best nights of Harry’s life. Ed is an incredible musician, so talented it’s almost sickening. Watching him live was truly an unforgettable experience, but Harry can say with confidence that it doesn’t even remotely compare to the sight that awaits him now as he lifts his eyes to watch Louis sing _Shape Of You_ in a cosy little pub on New Year’s Eve in the middle of Switzerland with his eyes locked on Harry’s like they’re the only two people in the room. 

 

_I’m in love with the shape of you_

_We push and pull like magnets do_

_Although my heart is falling too_

_I’m in love with your body_

_And last night you were in my room_

_And now my bed sheets smell like you_

_Everyday discovering something brand new_

_I’m in love with your body_

 

Louis’ voice is like nothing else in this world, so emotive and raw. The raspy quality of it lends itself perfectly to the sensual lyrics of the song as he effortlessly navigates through the rises and runs of the melody. He’s so fucking dynamic on stage. Everyone goes absolutely mad as he comes to the bridge. 

 

_C’mon, be my baby, c’mon_

_C’mon, be my baby, c’mon_  

 

The noise in the pub is deafening, the reverberation of it completely drowning out Harry’s ability to think – trying to form a coherent thought is like trying to wade through knee-deep honey. 

He watches the tantalising sway of Louis’ curvy hips as he circles them in perfect rhythm with the pulsing, sensual beat, and it feels like he’s being slow-fucked within an inch of his life right out in the open for everyone to see. Louis’ eyes are on him – a searing, white-hot gaze – and the contact feels dangerous, _explosive_. It manifest as a physical, tangible sensation on Harry’s skin – shivers running down his spine, the hair on the back of his neck prickling, goose bumps erupting on his forearms, his lips tingling, his toes curling. The air is thick with a heady, palpable tension, pregnant with possibility, and his head is swimming. He needs air, and needs it _right the fuck now_. 

The song ends and the bar erupts in a chorus of hearty cheers and enthusiastic applause, and Harry hears the unmistakable sound of Niall wolf-whistling – loud and shrill above the excited din of the room. He grabs his coat and stumbles out of their booth on unsteady legs – stone cold sober but feeling so disoriented, so awash with desire and soul-crushing _need_ , that he may as well be drunk. The love he feels for Louis is glowing and expanding under his skin, filling up his chest cavity and pushing at the spaces between his ribs as it tries to claw its way out of him, and he can’t contain it. 

The first lungful of air he gets as he clamors out of the pub is jarring and it stings his lips and burns down his throat as he pulls it in greedily, needing the frigid bite to ground and stabilise him. He leans against the wall just to the side of the door, tilting his head back and closing his eyes as he draws the much needed oxygen into his lungs and pushes it back out in sharp, gasping exhales, his chest heaving. 

He pushes off the wall and starts to pace just to give himself something to do, an anchor to focus on whilst he tries to calm his racing pulse and steady his ragged breathing. He lets out a startled, high-pitched yelp when an arm hooks around his chest from behind and he feels something cold and wet get shoved down the back of his coat and jumper. Cackling, Louis leaps onto his back and tackles him down into the snow. 

“ _Oof_ ,” Harry huffs as he lands less than gracefully with Louis’ full weight on top of him. “Lou!” he complains lightly, playfully, with no real heat to it, because he will never truly object to being in this position – pinned beneath Louis, completely caged in and surrounded by him. 

Louis rolls off of him with a boyish giggle. Harry instantly misses the feeling of having their bodies pressed against each other. 

“You’re a menace!” he accuses with a laugh, panting as he lies on his back and tries to catch his breath. It’s a fool’s errand. Oxygen is always scarce whenever Louis is around. 

“Am not,” Louis replies indignantly. “I’m an angel. See?” 

He turns to Harry with an expression of contrived innocence, his eyes squinted with his over-exaggerated grin. He splays his arms and legs out like a star – _the brightest star_ – and moves them in a jumping jack motion to make a snow angel. Harry scoffs and swipes his hand down Louis’ face. Louis, like the absolute child that he is, licks Harry’s palm when it passes over his mouth, then catches Harry’s wrist and tugs so that Harry has to turn on his side, halfway hovering over Louis. 

“Say I’m an angel, Harry,” he demands petulantly, gazing up from beneath his fluttering lashes. 

A slow, mischievous smirk spreads over Harry’s face. “I’m an angel, Harry,” he mimics in true juvenile fashion. 

“Oh my god,” Louis rolls his eyes fondly, reaching out to dig his fingers into Harry’s sides until he’s writhing and squirming, rapid-fire giggles being punched from his lips with every curl of Louis’ fingers. “You are such a little shit! C’mere, Styles.” 

He pulls Harry down on top of him, then rolls them over so he’s straddling him and leans down to lick Harry’s nose. 

There’s a moment where they just look at each other, and everything about it is so wonderfully, achingly familiar. It reminds Harry of a similar occurrence that took place what seems like a lifetime ago at the bottom of a snowy ski slope in Zermatt, and he can see in Louis’ eyes that he’s thinking the same thing, replaying the same memory. Nostalgia – thick and sweet like wild honey – condenses the air and cocoons them in a bubble of warmth. The feeling lingers and they remain there, quiet and contented, and bask in it. An unquantifiable amount of time passes as Harry stares up at the love of his life, the keeper of his heart, the thief of his breath, until eventually Louis smiles and eases himself off of Harry’s body, laying down next to him instead. 

“What happens if a car comes?” Harry asks cheekily, just to see if Louis will take the bait. 

He does. _Of course he does._ There’s a reason Harry loves him so much. (There are many reasons, actually, and one of those reasons amongst the veritable infinity is that Louis – without fail and without complaint – watches _The Notebook_ with him every time Harry is sick, or sad, or just really, really drunk.) 

“We die,” he replies, deadpan, and then the two of them dissolve into a fit of giggles, their laughter carried away by the frosted clouds of their breath into the peaceful night air. 

“Lou,” Harry says evenly, his eyes fixed on the strands of Christmas lights that are still strung up along main street, twinkling cheerfully above them. 

“Haz,” Louis returns, adopting a faux serious tone. 

Harry swallows harshly, trying to gather his courage, and Louis, because he’s _Louis_ , notices and softens instantly, his head lolling to the side so he can look over at Harry. 

“What is it, babe?” He whispers, gently nudging at the back of Harry’s hand with his knuckles. 

“I—do you want to go back to the chalet? I just remembered, I, erm, I never gave you your birthday present.” Harry’s voice is shaking like a screen door in a hurricane, and it’s so thin it may as well be transparent. 

Louis studies him curiously like he wants to ask about it. Harry can practically see the words forming on the tip of his tongue, as well as the moment Louis bites his lip to keep them there. 

“Sure, love,” he agrees graciously, blessing Harry with a malleable grin like he’d follow him to the ends of the earth if Harry asked him to. 

They get to their feet and Harry sneakily sends off a text to the lads whilst Louis’ attention is focused on brushing the snow off his bum. 

 **31 December 2017 (9:46 PM) To: Nialler, Payno, Z :** Going back to the chalet with Lou. This is it. Wish me luck. 

Almost immediately his mobile lights up with three simultaneous responses. 

 ** _31 December 2017 (9:46 PM) From: Payno:_** _So proud of you, H! Go get your boy!_  

 **_31 December 2017 (9:46 PM) From: Nialler:_ ** _Ey up, lad!_

 ** _31 December 2017 (9:47 PM) From: Nialler:_** _If the chalet’s rocking we won’t come knocking!!!_

 ** _31 December 2017 (9:47 PM) From: Z:_** _You’ve got this, Haz. No luck needed._

 ** _31 December 2017 (9:47 PM) From: Z:_** _And don’t worry, Liam just slapped Niall for that last text. But seriously, we’ll give you your privacy._

A nervous wisp of a laugh bubbles from Harry’s lips as he pockets his mobile and turns back to Louis. 

“Let’s walk, yeah?” Louis suggests with a hopeful tilt to his mouth. “It’s sort of beautiful out tonight.” 

 _You’re sort of beautiful_ , Harry so desperately wants to say. He bites it back, choosing instead to nod and offer Louis a small smile. He can feel the way his dimple indents his cheek, nervous energy flooding his veins as they reach the end of the block. They hang a right and the sights and sounds of main street become a blur behind them as they head towards the towering, snow covered pines that stand tall and proud at the edge of the woods like sentries. 

The incline is steep but not unbearable, and they’ve made this trek countless times before. They pick their way through the trees, their haphazardly forged path marked by the boot prints they leave behind in the freshly fallen snow. Everything is quiet; it’s as if the whole entire world has fallen into a hush and eternity stretches out before them. Harry takes a moment to contemplate the tranquility that tempers the air and settles around them like a protective cloak.

There are so many different versions of silence, and each of them carries its own tone and fleshes out its own meaning. This type of silence is Harry’s personal favourite, the kind born out of a connection so strong with the person you share it with that words are rendered obsolete – a comfortable silence, truly. He and Louis are just content to be in each other’s presence, to exist in the moment and not complicate it with words. It’s such a rare bond to have with another human being, one Harry has always shared with Louis despite their contrary ability to talk about any topic under the sun for hours on end until both their voices are hoarse and their minds are quieted. It’s yet another one of the ways Harry knows how much he truly loves Louis – they can live in the extremes together. They can do everything or nothing at all, and both are equally satisfying. 

He watches as Louis scampers across a fallen tree, his feet kicking up little clouds of snow that shine iridescent in the light of the moon – fractured as it filters down to the forest floor through the canopy of trees. He falters for a moment, pausing his progress to just hang back and admire Louis’ body, to allow himself to be swept up and enraptured by all his sharp angles and soft curves. It’s not even sexual, it’s just Harry appreciating the fluid grace of Louis’ movements, the confidence and certainty with which he carries himself, all that explosive fire and penetrating sunlight that seems to flow within his veins, the shift of his lovely, beautiful muscles and bones beneath his lovely, beautiful skin. How can so many contradictions coexist so peacefully within one body? How does he manage to look and feel so soft when he is essentially made up of right angles and sharp edges? How does such a small, delicate frame contain all that fire and fervency, and exude such strength? He’s captivating. Harry could spend entire lifetimes just watching him and never tire of it. 

Louis dismounts the log with a flourish worthy of an Olympic gymnast. He turns to look over his shoulder at Harry and shoots him a lazy grin. “Look at the stars, Haz,” he marvels, tilting his head back to gaze up at the night sky. 

Harry watches him for a minute, just studying the gorgeous cut of his profile – edged in pale silver by the glimmering moonlight. _How could anyone ever look at the stars when they’re standing next to you?_ He wonders. Reluctantly, he tears his eyes away from Louis to look for himself, but even the vast celestial magnificence of the cosmos pales in comparison to the view he had previously. The sky might as well be empty, because the only stars Harry sees are in Louis’ eyes. 

“Fuck, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how beautiful it is here,” Louis murmurs quietly, voice shot through with awed reverence as he turns in a slow circle, his eyes still cast towards the heavens. 

Harry can definitely relate to that feeling. He knows he’ll never get used to Louis’ beauty – the way it makes his heart feel splayed open and raw, and causes his breathing to turn shallow and ragged – he’ll just keep discovering new things to admire about him and more ways to love him. He once read that, in their language, Eskimos had over a hundred different words for ‘snow.’ That’s what he thinks loving Louis is like – hundreds of manifestations of the same central, all-consuming feeling. 

Even as it dawns on him how close he is to confessing that love, the constancy of Louis beside him, the darkness of the night, the softly falling snow, the hallowed silence of the woods all works together to drown out the noise in Harry’s head until his anxious thoughts dull to a low murmur in the background. 

He snaps to attention at the sound of Louis’ voice. 

“Race ya!” He says as the trees start to thin out, the chalet slowly coming into view through the frosty film of falling snow.

He doesn’t even wait to see if Harry is going to rise to the challenge, he just takes off without another word. Harry grins to himself and chases after him, always happy to follow wherever Louis wants to lead him. He launches himself at Louis’ back just as they make it to the front of the house. Louis somehow manages to twist the knob and open the door despite having 6’0” of clumsy, giggling boy draped over him, and the two of them go careening onto the floor in the foyer.

“I win!” He boasts, pumping his fist in the air triumphantly.

“That’s because you cheated,” Harry insists with a breathless huff of a laugh. “You always cheat.”

“Rude!” Louis gasps, doing an admirable job of looking properly scandalised. If he had pearls, he would be clutching them. Instead, he just swats playfully at Harry and tries to look as offended as physically possible. It’s really fucking cute. “I most certainly do _not_ ,” he scoffs, aggressively poking Harry in the centre of his chest, “you take that back! That’s defamation of character, Styles, and I will not lay here and let you drag my reputation through the mud like this. I thought you said you wanted to give me a present, not make wild accusations and untrue claims about my character. You lured me here under false pretenses,” he whines as he wrinkles his nose adorably, his wind-chapped lips curving into an exaggerated pout.

Harry thinks he deserves some sort of medal for resisting the urge to kiss it off his mouth right there on the floor with their limbs tangled together, cheeks flushed from the cold, and snow flakes still clinging to their lashes.

He throws his hands up in surrender, giggling manically as Louis continues to prod at him. “I didn’t,” he squeals, shying away from Louis' probing fingers, “I promise. I come bearing gifts!”

Louis holds out his hand earnestly, palm up like he expects his present to just materialise out of thin air. Unable to help himself, Harry laughs at his eagerness. 

“I don’t have it on me, Lou,” he teases lightly. “’S in my bag. Have to go get it.” 

“Well, what are we waiting for then?” Louis asks, climbing to his feet and offering his hand to Harry to help him do the same.

He bounds across the room with the enthusiasm of a small child on Christmas morning, yet still manages to maintain a grace worthy of an accomplished ballerina. “Going to go get changed, you coming?” He questions with an arch of his brow, one foot already poised on the first step of the spiral staircase, his hand on the rail. 

“Mm, I was actually thinking I’d start a fire,” Harry proposes, reaching back to scratch at the nape of his neck. It wasn’t intended to be a question, but the nervous tilt to his voice frames it as such. Louis nods his approval anyway. Grateful, Harry shoots him a lopsided smile. “Would you mind just bringing my bag down for me?” 

“Sure thing, babe,” Louis agrees easily, loping up the stairs without further comment. 

“And your present’s in there, so no peeking!” Harry hollers after him as he kneels in front of the hearth and piles a couple birch logs into the fireplace. 

The melodic sound of Louis’ laughter floats down from the loft above. “No promises!” He replies cheekily. 

Harry shakes his head and busies himself with getting the fire going. As curious as he is, he knows Louis won’t actually peek when Harry specifically asked him not to.

He comes barreling down the staircase just as Harry sets the kindling alight and is coaxing the modest flames into a proper fire. Harry braces his hands on his knees and stands to his full height, his back cracking a little when he arches from side to side. Louis skips the last step and hops into the lounge with Harry’s bag slung over his shoulder. His grey thermal pants hug the curves of his thighs deliciously then taper off where they’re tucked into a pair of thick, woolen socks at his ankles. On top, he’s wearing a soft knit jumper, the fabric marled with shades of pale blue and slate grey. Harry doesn’t think it’s meant to be oversized, but it looks that way on Louis with how it hangs off his shoulders a bit to expose the delicate framework of his collar bones. The sleeves extend past his dainty wrists to cover his hands as well, but the back hem is rucked up over the swell of his bum. The sight of it makes Harry smile and gulp in equal measure. 

“Wanna head into the kitchen for tea? I’m just going to change and grab your present and then I’ll meet you in there?” 

“Yeah, alright,” Louis assents with a nod. He backs out of the room slowly, rubbing his hands together in front of his chest. “Don’t keep me waiting, curly. The suspense is killing me!” 

Harry coughs out a laugh and bends over the sofa table to unzip his duffle. “Won’t be long, I promise.” 

Louis knocks his fist against the doorframe and shoots Harry one last cheeky grin before he disappears into the kitchen. Harry quickly strips down to his own thermal undergarments, pulls on a fresh pair of cosy socks, and exchanges the fair isle jumper he has been wearing for his favourite oversized lavender one. He fishes the envelope with Louis’ birthday card out of the interior zippered pocket of his bag then closes his duffle and kicks it next to the sofa. His guitar is already out from when Niall had been messing around with it earlier that morning, so all he has to do is lean it up against the sofa and then everything is set up and ready to go. His nostrils flare when he squeezes his eyes shut and inhales deeply. His hands are shaking so hard he can barely hold the envelope in them without dropping it. He fumbles it twice on the way to the kitchen. 

 _This is it_. This is the moment that’s been four years in the making. 

He pauses on the threshold for one more deep breath, and then he enters the room with his heart in his hands, prepared to face his long awaited fate. 

* 

Sat next to each other at the dining table with two steaming mugs of tea, Harry slides the card across the space between he and Louis. It feels remarkably like crossing a border into uncharted territory, like traversing some unspecified boundary he set for himself years ago and has been studiously avoiding ever since. He supposes that’s not too far from the truth. 

His heart leaps into his throat as Louis slips his finger under the flap of the envelope and slides it along the crease to break the seal. His tongue pokes out at the corner of his mouth in concentration as he extracts the card and then his serious expression automatically melts into an endeared smile. The front of the card has a simple drawing of a mug with a smiley face on it beneath the caption: _Wishing you a tea-rific birthday!_  

“Honestly, Harold,” Louis chuckles with quiet amusement, tapping his index finger over the pun. 

Harry beams at him, shrugging up one shoulder sheepishly. “I almost got you one that said, ‘ _You’re getting old, but I don’t carrot all_ ,’ with a picture of a carrot, but I thought this one was more fitting.” 

“God,” Louis laughs, “I mention liking carrots one time...” he trails off, laughing harder. 

Harry joins in. “It was a little more than just a mention. It was a proper ode,” he teases with a giggle. 

“A _drunken_ ode,” Louis corrects with a giggle of his own, pushing a hand through his soft, feathery fringe and sweeping it to the side of his forehead. 

“It was the only time I’ve ever heard you willingly admit to liking a vegetable. It was a pretty memorable moment.” Harry beams at him dopily, and Louis purses his lips against a grin, scrunching up his nose in the way Harry loves best. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters petulantly as he goes to open the card. 

Harry sobers almost immediately, nerves back in full force. His hand shoots up to his mouth to tug on his lower lip. He rolls it between his thumb and forefinger anxiously as he watches Louis, kneading the flesh punishingly until it smarts. 

Louis’ brows furrow momentarily when he notices that there isn’t a message inscribed within the card, but instead a printed photograph – it’s edges slightly curled and time-worn – is tucked into the fold. He lifts it reverently, cradling it in his hands as a smile spilts his face when he recognises the photo. It’s the one he took on his phone at Gemma’s wedding four years ago after they slow danced together in the greenhouse. It’s the same one that they have a copy of tacked up to the fridge in their flat back home, and also framed on both their bedside tables. This particular one, however, is the original. The one Harry immediately had printed the second they returned to London after winter hols, and remained pinned to the wall of his and Niall’s shared room for the duration of his time at university. Louis’ grin broadens as he stares down at the eighteen year old versions of them forever immortalised on the waxy photo paper. 

“Turn it over,” Harry breathes, his heart beating out a violent, chaotic rhythm in his chest. 

Louis’ eyes flit up to meet his briefly, and then, slowly, _carefully_ – like he knows exactly how fragile this moment is – he turns the photograph over in his hand. His breath hitches immediately. There on the back, painstakingly inked in black sharpie, Harry has poured out the contents of his heart with six deceptively simple words, ‘ _I wrote a song for you_.’ 

There are enough sappy cliches out there about blue eyes. Blue eyes and sapphires, blue eyes and cloudless skies, blue eyes and the ocean. Harry knows because he has thought them all at least a hundred times over in reference to Louis, but even though those clichés exist for a reason, the beauty of Louis’ eyes is anything but common, anything but ordinary. It embodies all the clichés, but it inspires new comparisons too.

When he first wakes up, his eyes are the soft, baby blue of spun sugar, making him look just as sweet. When he cries, a hint of jade sneaks in – the same colour as Harry’s own eyes, as if a part of his soul is bleeding for Louis’ pain. When he’s angry or frustrated, they darken like an oil spill at sea. When he’s excited, they burn the same molten blue as the hottest part of a flame. When he’s deep in thought they’re a crystalline, misty beryl like frost on a windowpane. When he’s tired, they’re glossy and lucite like sea glass. When he’s happy, they’re warm and opaque, the same blue as the soft, cosy woolen blanket that Harry keeps folded on the end of his bed. They display his emotions so vividly like stained glass windows to his heart and soul, and Harry knows the meaning of every hue and shade along the gradient.

But Louis looks at him now, and, for the first time, Harry can’t read him. The colour of his ordinarily familiar eyes is foreign and illusive, and Harry can’t put a name to the look in them because it’s one he’s never seen before. And that’s— _disconcerting,_ or, at the very least, inconvenient. A cold shock of paralysing fear grabs hold of Harry and gnaws at his gut in the face of such an unknown.

But then Louis smiles at him – small and tremulous, like maybe he’s just as nervous as Harry feels – and it’s the antidote to the terror that has poisoned Harry’s thoughts and seized his heart in a vice grip.

“Yeah?” Louis rasps, barely more than a whisper, but Harry hears it anyway.

“C’mon,” he murmurs, lacing their fingers together and leading Louis into the lounge where, together, they settle on the sofa.

A small swell of panic rises in Harry’s chest as he reaches for his guitar and adjusts it on his lap, coughing into his fist to clear his throat, and maybe a little to stall for time. The truth is, he knows that no matter what the outcome of this situation, Louis will be lovely to him. Even if he doesn’t feel the same way about Harry as Harry feels about him, he will be sweet and gracious about it and Harry has no doubt that Louis will let him down easy and maintain that they can still continue their friendship. The problem is, Harry doesn’t think he could bear to go on the way they were if Louis doesn’t have feelings for him. It would be far too painful to be so close to him and always want more. The only reason he can manage it now is because he doesn’t actually know for sure how Louis feels, so he is able to maintain a small flicker of hope in his heart that they could someday be more, that they could be _everything_.

Well, someday has finally come, and Harry is about to open up his heart and let Louis in. He’s about to find out if that spark that has been smoldering within him for years will be fanned into a raging, all-consuming inferno - an eternal flame - or be stamped out and extinguished completely. 

He clears his throat again, sparing one last look for the boy in front of him – who unknowingly holds Harry’s heart and future in his hands – before everything between them changes for better or for worse. 

His fingers feel numb as he begins to strum the first few notes on his guitar. Every beat of his heart sounds like _Louis Louis Louis_. Every exhale feels like _I love you I love you I love you._ He breathes in deeply, his mind flooding with memories from the last four years – every look, every smile, every laugh, every word, every touch that ever passed between them – he pulls them all into his lungs along with the air and allows his body to swell with the weight of them. Then he exhales and pushes them back out, hoping against hope that the lyrics of the song he is about to sing will articulate the strength and depth of all those memories, and the feelings that have taken root in his heart and grown from them. With his heart in his hands and the air heavy with all those swirling emotions and memories, Harry opens his mouth and starts to sing. 

 

_“I got a heart, and I got a soul_

_Believe me I will use them both_

_We made a start_

_Be it a false one I know_

_Baby, I don’t want to feel alone.”_  

 

He can’t believe how good the words feel on his lips, the way his mouth moves around the shape of the vowels and consonants, the way they taste on his tongue – airy and sweet like spun sugar. His heart has never felt lighter. It beats wildly in his chest, faster than the flap of a hummingbird’s wings, making Harry understand why the bones surrounding it are called his rib _cage_. Hearts are such fierce, untamable creatures. Of course they would need something to contain them; otherwise, his own heart would certainly have flown straight out of his chest and thrown itself at Louis’ feet years ago. 

 

_“So kiss me where I lay down_

_My hands pressed to your cheeks_

_A long way from the playground.”_  

 

He mentally prepares himself to sing the most important lyrics of the song, knowing that if somehow Louis hasn’t figured out what this all means up until this point, there will be no mistaking what Harry is trying to do from here on out. _This is it_. He’s about to tell his best friend that he’s in love with him. 

So far, he’s kept his head bent over his guitar to avoid looking at Louis’ face, afraid of what he might find there, but it’s time to confront his fears because Louis deserves to be looked in the eyes when Harry tells him he loves him. At that moment, Louis’ hand inches forward to rest on Harry’s knee. He squeezes it gently and that’s what gives Harry the courage to look up into the infinite blue of Louis’ eyes and sing the chorus. 

 

_“I have loved you since we were eighteen_

_Long before we both thought the same thing_

_To be loved and to be in love_

_All I can do is say that these arms were made for holding you, oh_

_I wanna love like you made me feel when we were eighteen.”_

 

He knows the exact moment the words register with Louis because there’s a solar eclipse in his eyes. He looks like he stops breathing for a couple seconds, then his lips curve in a wobbly little grin and the tears come. They pool in his eyes – making the blue of them even more prominent and bringing out the subtle hints of jade – and stream silently down his cheeks. Harry feels like an entire field of wildflowers has bloomed in his chest, and he’s blinking back tears of his own as he begins singing the next verse. 

 

_“We took a chance_

_God knows we tried_

_Yet all along I knew we’d be fine_

_So pour me a drink, oh love_

_Let’s split the night wide open_

_And we’ll see everything we can_

_Living love in slow motion, motion, motion._

_So kiss me where I lay down_

_My hands pressed to your cheeks_

_A long way from the playground._

_I have loved you since we were eighteen_

_Long before we both thought the same thing_

_To be loved and to be in love_

_All I can do is say that these arms are made for holding you, oh_

_And I wanna love like you made me feel when were eighteen_

_When we were eighteen_

_Oh love, when we were eighteen_

_Kiss me where I lay down_

_My hands pressed to your cheeks_

_A long way from the playground_

_I have loved you since we were eighteen_

_Long before we both thought the same thing_

_To be loved and to be in love_

_And all I can do is say that these arms were made for holding you_

_And I wanna love like you made me feel_

_When we were eighteen_

_I wanna love like you made me feel_

_When we were eighteen.”_  

 

Harry sets his guitar aside with one last cathartic strum, but the final note seems to linger in the air long after the song has finished. Louis sits there looking completely stunned for a moment before he slowly raises his hands to his face and starts wiping at his tear-stained cheeks with the sleeves of his jumper. “Harry, I…” 

“Hold on just a minute, Lou,” Harry interjects gently. “There’s something I need to say and I’ve been waiting a while to say it.” He pauses to smile sheepishly, Louis snapping his mouth shut and giving him a small nod of encouragement to continue. “I could give you a big speech, but I think I used up my last bit of romance writing you that song, so I’m just going to keep this simple. You are my best friend, Lou, and I have loved you since we were eighteen. You have the kindest heart, the most beautiful mind, and I am insanely attracted to you. I think you know me better than I know myself. You make me laugh and you make me feel safe. Everything in my life is better with you around. Bottom line, you are my favourite person in the entire world, and I just want to be with you. All I’m asking for is the chance to love you.” 

There is no such blue as that of Louis’ eyes in this moment. Not in the wild bellflowers, buttercups, and gentians with their dew drenched petals that are sprinkled across the Alps during summertime, not in the depths below the serene surface of the glacial mountain lake a few kilometres north of the chalet, not in the wide expanse of sky that stretches out behind the Matterhorn offering a postcard worthy view from atop the Gornergrat piste. No such blue exists anywhere else on earth. It is the purest, deepest, _rawest_ blue and it’s as beautiful and unique as the boy it belongs to. 

“I need to tell you something too," Louis confesses lowly, "but before I do, I need to explain."

Harry bobs his head along to show that he's listening.

Louis inhales a deep, shaky breath and continues, "When we first met at uni, I had just gotten out of a two year relationship, and before that I was in another relationship for almost a year. The point is, I had spent pretty much all my teenage years being part of a couple, and I needed to find my own identity and grow into myself without having to account for someone else. Then I met you." Louis pauses to smile beatifically, "And _god, Harry_ , you were just everything right from the very start. I couldn’t believe how easily we fell into sync with each other. I had a stronger connection with you after just one day than I did in the entire three years combined that I spent in serious relationships with two other people. And the strangest part of it all was that it didn’t even scare me, it was so natural. It just felt so _right_ somehow, and I tried not to question it or think too deeply about it because I had told myself I wasn’t going to get involved with someone else again so soon. 

"But then you invited me to Gemma’s wedding, and just – _fuck_ , if I hadn’t been sure after knowing you for one day – for one _hour_ – I was sure after that weekend. But there was also a part of me that was worried that you wouldn’t feel as strongly as I did, or not in the same way, and I couldn’t risk losing what we had. I couldn’t risk losing _you_ , Harry, because no one outside my own family has ever been as important to me as you are. I needed you in my life in whatever capacity I could have you, even though some days I thought it might actually kill me if all I could ever have from you was friendship. 

"I remember hoping that you would have someone to whisper in your ear how beautiful you are – how clever and sweet and selfless and lovely – someone to tell you how much better a place the world is with you in it. I hoped you had someone who would fucking worship your body in bed, who would take the time to learn every inch of you and spend hours making you shiver and writhe and moan. I hoped you had someone who was happy just to lie next to you and listen to you breathe, someone to watch you sleep and kiss you awake and lay their hand on your chest just to feel your heart beat. I hoped you had all those things because I’ve never known anyone who is more deserving of that kind of love than you, but at the same time, the thought of someone doing all those things for you made me sick to my stomach, because I wanted it to be me. I wanted to be that someone for you, Haz. I wanted to hold you and kiss you and take care of you and spend every moment making sure you know how perfect you are. I still want nothing more than to be that person. I want it so fucking much it hurts. 

"I always felt like I was so obvious, like there was no way you couldn’t tell how gone I was for you, but the years went by and nothing changed, so maybe I was a better actor than I thought. I’m sorry that I wasted so much time. I’m sorry it took us so long to get to this point, but we’re here now, yeah? And I need you to hear this...” He pauses and audibly pulls in a lungful of air. “I love you,” he whispers on a shaky exhale, the words steady and solid and certain despite the pattern of his breathing being anything but. Tears are streaming down his face again, pale rivulets cutting paths of silver across his golden skin. He hiccups, his lip trembling as he tries to tamp down on a sob. “I love you,” he says again, his quivering lip curling into a weak, watery smile. His mouth is pinched with emotion, his brows knit in an expression of heartbreakingly raw sincerity and earnestness. 

Harry’s heart feels like it’s stuck in his throat, like a dam clogging up all the words and emotions that are trying to move past it. Louis’ _I love you_ is what finally breaks the seal and relieves the pressure, and then he’s awash with a tidal wave of thoughts and feelings as they flood his body. “I love you too, Lou,” he tearfully tells the boy before him. 

Louis shakes his head and rubs at his eyes, a disbelieving wisp of a laugh bubbling to the surface. “ _Fuck_ , all this time. How did I not know?” 

“You knew,” Harry sniffles, nodding his head resolutely along with his words. “I think deep down you always knew. It just took your brain a little longer to catch up to your heart, that’s all.” 

“God, I love you,” Louis declares, eyes darting all over Harry’s face in an expression of awed reverence. 

Another sob slips from his lips, but Harry doesn’t give it the chance to hang in the air between them. He swallows it with his mouth, kissing the hurt and the regret for time wasted right off Louis’ lips, and uses the pads of his fingers to erase the tears from his cheeks. “I love you too. So, so very much.” 

“Fuck, we are such idiots,” Louis laughs breathily, helping Harry wipe at his tears. “We could have gotten our shit together years ago and had all that time to be together.” 

Harry shakes his head obstinately. “No, Lou. Don’t do that. I wouldn’t change anything about this. Because if we would have gotten together right away like you said, you might have always wondered if I was just a rebound, or you might have regretted not taking the time to really discover yourself fully. We both needed that time to grow into our own, and now we can be certain that this is what we both want and we’re one hundred percent ready.” 

“You’re right,” Louis concedes. “No matter what it took for us to get here, there was always only one way this was going to end. You and me, Harry, we’re inevitable.” 

“ _Lou_. Fuck, I-I can’t believe this is my life. I can’t believe I get to love you.” 

“I’m yours, babe. You might not have known it, but I’ve been yours since we were eighteen. And now we have four years worth of catching up to do.” 

 _God_ , Harry can breathe. He can look at Louis for the first time without feeling like he’s taking something that’s not his. There’s no such thing as stolen glances anymore; Louis is his to look at whenever he wants, assuming that Harry is ever even able to look away from him again. _Not bloody likely_ , he thinks. 

Louis slides into his lap, strong legs bracketing Harry’s narrow hips. He reaches out for Harry, effortlessly tangling their fingers together in a perfect fit and resting their joined hands on top of his thighs as he presses in closer. His lips brush tentatively over the shell of Harry’s ear, the touch nothing more than a whisper of contact, but more than enough to send an electric pulse throughout Harry’s entire body and cause goose bumps to pucker every inch of his skin. 

“I want to touch you, Harry,” he breathes, his lips brushing over that highly sensitized area between the hinge of Harry’s jaw and his earlobe. 

Harry has to clench his eyes shut and take a deep breath to steady himself, already feeling overwhelmed from a ghost of a touch and those few simple words. 

Louis squeezes his fingers, their hands still linked and resting atop his thighs. "Let me take you to bed," he whispers, looking at Harry through the thick fan of his lashes with a heavy lidded gaze. "Want to be close to you. Want to feel you."

Harry swallows thickly, his breath hitching. He shakes his head slowly but firmly, refusing to break eye contact with Louis.

Louis' mouth twists into a pained expression. "You don’t want to?" He questions forlornly.

He looks so hurt, his eyes hardening so quickly like a wall going up to protect him from the pain of his perceived rejection. Harry rushes to explain himself. He doesn't want to see that kind of look on Louis' face ever again, and he definitely doesn't want to be the reason for it.

"It’s been four years, Lou, I don't want to wait any longer. Want you right here," he admits honestly, rubbing his thumb over the back of Louis' hand. The raw truth of his words and all that they imply makes him feel like he’s already bare. In a way, he supposes he is. He’s never been this vulnerable with someone before, has never felt something so intimate.

Louis closes his eyes, his nostrils flaring as he inhales deeply. His lids flutter back open when he exhales, and Harry is pleased to see that any trace of doubt or uncertainty has been drained from his eyes. They're completely unguarded and shining; the colour a clear, deep blue that's more beautiful than the sky on even the most perfect day. The rest of his facial features are soft to match, his expression vulnerable and open and his whole body lax and pliant under Harry's touch. It's so much to know that Louis trusts him like this. There's always been a level of comfort in their relationship that comes along with being best friends, but _this_ is something even stronger, something so deeply-rooted that the sheer magnitude of it takes Harry's breath away.

He never thought he could love Louis more than he already did - first in friendship, then in what he thought at the time was unrequited love - but now that he knows his feelings are reciprocated, that Louis loves him back with just as much fervor (a feat that Harry would have deemed impossible if he wasn't currently witnessing it play out in front of him, reflecting plainly for him to see in Louis' eyes) that love has increased exponentially and infinitely, to the point that it's uncontainable.

They've shared everything over the years. They're privy to each other’s habits and preferences and quirks and hang-ups and pet peeves; they know each other's minds. Harry just opened himself up completely to Louis by singing him the song he wrote for him, and by confessing his love, and Louis returned the sentiment with a confession of his own, so now they also know each other's hearts. The only thing left for them to explore together is each other's bodies, and then the bond between them will be sealed and complete in every possible way. And what better way to demonstrate their love for one another than to feel each other from the inside out?

It's not as if their bodies are totally unfamiliar with the other's touch, they've been plenty tactile over the course of their friendship, even at the very beginning, but the weight of their shared feelings puts any touches from this point forward in a different context and they already feel so much more significant. Even the smallest gesture of their joined hands, something that has occurred countless times in the past, is so much more powerful, more meaningful, with this new intent behind it. It's a dizzying, addictive feeling and Harry wants to see how far they can take it.

When he speaks, he doesn't even feel embarrassed or question his wording, he knows it’s the right thing to say. "I want us to make love."

Louis closes his eyes again, looking beautifully affected to the point of being overwhelmed. Harry is absolutely floored by his reaction, couldn't ask for anything more.

"Yes," Louis rasps, nodding fervently. "Yes, Harry, _baby_ , wanna make love to you so much."

Harry swoons at the endearment, it's not that different from 'babe' something Louis has called him regularly throughout the course of their friendship, but somehow that one letter change makes all the difference, and it causes him to let out a tiny whimper.

"Yeah?" Louis asks. "You like that? Like it when I call you baby?"

Harry whimpers again, biting down on his lip and nodding.

Louis leans forward and starts dusting soft kisses onto Harry's jaw, his cheekbones, his eyelids – all the while murmuring _baby_ over and over again. Harry shivers with every whispered word, every gentle press of Louis' lips.

"Mine," Louis breathes, lips tracing along the cut of Harry's jaw.

"Yours," Harry agrees wholeheartedly.

" _My baby_ ," Louis sighs in content, nosing into the hollow beneath Harry's ear to press a kiss there. “How do you want to do this, love?”

Harry doesn’t have to think twice. He’s been picturing this moment in his head for four years now, and he knows exactly what he wants. He cradles Louis’ face in his hands, drawing him back so they can get lost in each other’s eyes, so Harry can watch the impact of his words when he says them. “I want you inside of me.”

“Kiss me.” It’s soft, almost broken, as the request falls from Louis’ lips and hangs in the air between them. It’s a request Harry is all too happy to oblige.

Their lips meet with gentle brushes and timid swipes of tongue, both of them skirting around the edge of something vast and overwhelming. It’s that exquisite anticipation, that delicious buzz underneath the skin, that rush of adrenaline before the freefall. Then Louis’ fingers are teasing at the hem of Harry’s jumper, the tips of them just barely slipping beneath, and they’re propelled over the edge.

They take their time undressing each other, both of them savouring every moment. It’s an act that can sometimes get lost in the fray, can be drowned out by lust and the need for instant gratification. That’s not what Harry wants. He wants to luxuriate in the intimacy of it. He cherishes every hitch of Louis’ breath, revels in every quiet rustle of fabric slipping over skin – each article of clothing removed bringing him that much closer to being bare before his lover.

When they’re both shirtless, only their pants and thermal undergarments remaining, Louis removes himself from Harry’s lap and grabs the fluffy, white duvet that’s draped over the back of the sofa. He spreads it out on the floor in front of the hearth, tossing some pillows there as well, then turns to Harry and offers him his hand. “Come lie down with me, love.”

Louis pulls him to his feet, immediately connecting their lips and walking him backwards to the makeshift bed on the floor. They giggle into each other’s mouths as they try to lower themselves onto it without interrupting the kiss, and Harry thinks that maybe all his blood has been replaced with champagne. Everything is golden-hued and hazy and he feels like he’s swimming or floating or maybe even flying. He’s not sure what the most accurate comparison is, he just knows that he feels weightless and happier than he ever thought possible.

Louis is hovering over him now, his weight carefully distributed so that Harry won’t feel the brunt of it, but he finds that he wants to feel it, _needs_ to feel it even. He needs those sharp bits of reality bleeding in so he can assure himself that what’s happening between them isn’t a fantasy, as much as it may feel like one.

Louis kisses down his chest, his mouth warm and wet on Harry’s bare skin. His fringe has flopped down in front of his eyes, but Harry can see that beneath it his brows are furrowed in concentration.

He finds himself getting distracted by the obscene curve of Louis’ spine as he bows over him, so it’s a bit of a shock when he feels the tip of Louis’ tongue dip into one of his v-lines. Both the surprise factor and the ticklish nature of the touch cause Harry to gasp. Louis smirks against his skin in response, his hands kneading the softness just above Harry’s hips and drawing them closer to his mouth. Teasingly, he runs his finger along the waistband of Harry’s briefs like it’s a line he’s preparing himself to cross. “Can I take these off?”

Harry lets his hand trail down his torso until he can fit it to Louis’ cheek, his thumb stroking along the ridge there. “Yeah, Lou,” he consents with a nod. “Yours too?”

Louis smiles and presses a kiss just below Harry’s navel. “One step at a time, love. This is all about you right now.”

“Louuu,” Harry whines with a huff. He’s all for getting naked, but he’d very much like it to be a mutual thing.

Louis ducks his forehead to Harry’s belly, obviously trying to hide his amusement, but Harry can feel the vibration of his laughter against his skin. “Patience, baby. I promise I will, just—you first, yeah?”

“Okay,” Harry acquiesces, most likely sounding like a pouty two-year-old.

“That’s my boy,” Louis beams, rewarding him with another kiss. It’s not like it’s much of a hardship. Harry would do absolutely anything to see that smile, and Louis calling him his boy is just the cherry on top.

Louis hooks his finger in the waistband of Harry’s briefs, the slight scrape of his nail against the sensitive skin there enough to have Harry’s eyes rolling back in his head. Louis continues to drag them down, and then there’s a rush of cold air and Louis’ husky voice whispering, “ _baby_.”

Harry squirms happily under the heat of his gaze. He feels sexy and powerful with his ability to affect Louis so, but most of all he feels safe – secure in the knowledge that Louis loves him, and wanting nothing more than to surrender himself to him completely.

Louis is still clutching his briefs in his hands, appearing quite dazed. When he snaps himself out of it, he looks up at Harry from beneath his lashes, every bit the seductress that Harry always suspected he would be. “Definitely won’t be needing these anymore,” he practically purrs, and with that he stretches out the band and slingshots them across the room.

There’s a loud crash as they hit a lamp, knocking it to the ground. Louis’ eyes widen comically, looking proper caught out. “Shit, sorry!” He grimaces.

It takes all of one second before the two of them are dissolving into a fit of giggles, giddy with love and drunk on each other.

“Leave it.” Harry laughs with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Mum’s always hated that lamp anyway.”

“Well, in that case, I meant to hit it all along, and I shall take full credit for destroying it.”

“Really, Lou? You wanna explain to my mum that you broke her lamp tossing my pants across the room in your haste to get me naked?”

Louis’ brow wrinkles in distaste. “Hmm, yeah, not so much,” he decides.

Harry giggles at his adorably disgruntled expression. “That’s what I thought.”

“Hey,” Louis prompts, his voice taking on a much more serious tone, “you’re beautiful, you know that?”

“Lou,” Harry deflects, turning his head bashfully.

Louis reaches up and seizes his chin gently in his grasp, turning Harry’s face until their eyes meet once more. “Hey, none of that. You are. You are gorgeous, Harry. So fucking lovely. Do you have any idea how lovely you are? Truly? Because sometimes I can’t fall asleep at night because I’m lying in bed thinking about you and my heart’s racing too fast. Sometimes I make an absolute prat of myself in public because I remember something ridiculous you said to me and I burst out laughing for no apparent reason. Sometimes I can’t even look at you because the urge to kiss you is so strong. Sometimes I think I would do anything, _anything_ , to make you smile. Sometimes I think the most important thing in the world to me is your happiness. _That’s_ how lovely you are.”

It’s too much. The crushing force of the love Harry feels is too much for his weak body to contain. There are no words to breathe life into the feeling. There’s only one thing he can think of that could possibly bring him some relief. “Need you, Lou,” he chokes out. “Please, need you now.”

“I’m here, baby,” Louis assures him, peeling himself off of Harry and getting to his feet to divest himself of his remaining clothes.

There’s apprehension in the set of his mouth; his nerves betrayed by the small twitch there and the way his fingers toy at the waistband of his thermal pants. He’s self-conscious. Harry can read him like a book and he knows. It still throws him for a loop sometimes that this boy could be anything less than confident in how utterly, heart-stoppingly beautiful he is, but he also knows that’s easier said than done.

He wants to kiss the little wrinkle between Louis’ brows, wants smooth his hand down his chest and whisper words of praise and adoration into every square inch of skin on his body, but he knows that’s not what Louis needs. Although he has no reason to feel ashamed of his body, and it makes Harry’s chest ache to think that he could feel anything short of love and awe towards it, he understands that dismissing Louis’ feelings with protests and compliments – as sincere as they may be – won’t erase the underlying insecurities there. What he needs is to feel validated and accepted for who he is, perceived flaws and all, and to be assured that who he is so much more than enough to be worthy of Harry’s love. So that’s what he does.

“I love you so much, Louis,” he declares firmly and passionately, leaving absolutely no room for argument, no room for doubt.

He sees Louis’ eyes soften in understanding, his body sagging the tiniest bit in relief like he knows Harry gets it. He smiles at him gratefully, and this time when his hands move to the waistband of his pants, they’re no longer shaking. He pushes them off his hips and steps out of them, his eyes never straying from Harry’s face, and then he’s naked. Gloriously naked and lowering himself back down on top of Harry.

He’s always known that Louis is beautiful, but this is just. He’s a study in contrast, riddled with contradictions – soft and hard, masculine and feminine, delicate and strong. It’s as if his body was made with Harry in mind to offer him the best of both worlds. The miles of skin that’s silky soft, impossibly smooth, and perfectly golden covering hard, wiry muscles and razor sharp bone structure. The thick lashes and gently curved brows, the feathery fringe and petal pink lips that make him look so soft and pretty. The precise cut of his chiseled jaw and cheekbones, the thick stubble that makes him look so ruggedly handsome and virile. The prominent architecture of his shoulders and collarbones, his narrow waist and delicate wrists. His lightly defined torso, smooth and taut with just a hint of softness rounding it out. His powerful legs, thick thighs and contoured calves. His mouthwatering biceps, sinewy forearms, and the quiet strength he carries like a concealed weapon. Yeah, Harry knows he’s beautiful all right.

His mind then moves past the overwhelming visuals to process the sensation that is Louis’ naked skin touching his naked skin. His fingers itch for his guitar because he needs to write a song about _this_ , about this feeling burning in his chest that can’t be described with words, but maybe can be spelled out in chords and notes. About the pattern of Louis’ breathing and the cadence of his beating heart. About the dimples at the bottom of his spine and the small constellation of freckles on his left cheekbone.

His body is the most exquisite combination of foreign and familiar. After years of friendship, of casual touches and lingering looks, Harry feels like he knows him by heart, like he could find him, even in the dark, and trace a path from his fingertips to his lips. He doesn’t need to see him to know every curve and contour, every soft spot and sharp angle. He doesn’t _need_ to see him, but god does he want to.

He knows it’s a cliché; he really, _really_ does, but being with Louis like this feels like coming home after years of being away. There’s comfort and familiarity, but there’s excitement too. There are so many places on Louis’ body that don’t know Harry’s touch, and he wants to let the light fall on all those dark, heady places, dip his tongue into every valley, feel every quiver and pulse beneath his fingertips until he’s no longer a stranger.

It’s thrilling in a way that has his heart beating out a frenzied rhythm in his chest, as if he’s worried he won’t have enough time to explore Louis properly. He thinks even forever probably wouldn’t be long enough to worship him the way he wants to, the way Louis deserves to be worshipped. That’s certainly not going to stop him from trying, though.

“Baby, do you have stuff?” Louis whispers, his voice breaking Harry from his reverie.

Harry clears his throat, leaning up on his elbows a bit to gesture over towards the sofa. “Yeah, erm, in my bag.”

“Be right back, darling,” Louis promises with a quick kiss to Harry’s lips.

Harry unashamedly watches Louis’ arse as he gets to his feet and bends over the armrest of the sofa to dig in Harry’s bag. It’s such a relief after years of policing his thoughts and fantasies and agonising over every stolen glance and every errant pang of arousal he felt when he would let his eyes linger too long or his mind wander a bit too far into dangerous territory. It’s quite the thrill knowing he’s now allowed to look his fill without feeling any semblance of guilt for doing so. He’s not sure how he’s ever going to take his eyes off Louis again now that they’ve been granted unfettered access. Knowing that he doesn’t have to has Harry smiling like mad, his cheeks aching from the strain on his facial muscles with how wide his grin is.

A few moments later, Louis is lowering himself back down with a bottle of lube and a couple of condoms clutched in his fist. The snick of the bottle cap opening sounds so much louder than it normally would, the noise magnified by the knowledge of what it’s leading to.

Louis kneels between Harry’s legs and slicks up his fingers, his other hand petting soothingly at Harry’s thighs and coaxing them to spread further apart. “Gonna get you ready for me now, love.”

The first touch is electric. It’s just a soft stroke of Louis’ index finger, but Harry is greedy for it. A needy whine leaves his throat without his permission, his head tilting back and his eyes closing in anticipation. Louis continues to pet at him, caressing him lovingly and running his knuckles along the sensitive rope of skin that leads to his hole. Harry whines some more and shifts around, the sensations so overwhelming he can’t lay still. Louis seems to get the message, because after one more stroke to Harry’s rim, he’s pushing inside.

He’s barely to the second knuckle, but the feeling is already so intense that Harry feels like he’s breaking under the strength of it. Louis looks completely disoriented, his eyes glazed over with lust and love as he leans forward and buries his face into the crease of Harry’s groin. His mouth is moving over Harry’s skin with the same desperation that Harry has felt simmering in his veins, just beneath the surface, for the past four years. That fire that’s been burning in his chest for as long as he’s known Louis is being reflected back at him in the other boy’s hungry gaze, and it’s everything to know that Louis has been carrying the same torch for him this whole time. They’re twin flames, _soul mates_ , and now there’s nothing to stop their love from consuming them.  

“You going to moan for me, baby?” Louis wonders aloud, dragging his lips with delicious intent closer to where Harry’s dick is painfully hard and leaking against his abdomen. “I’ve had so many dreams about it, about getting to lie next to you and be with you like this. Always wondered what you’d sound like for me with that gorgeous voice of yours. Don’t hold back, ‘kay? I want to hear you.”

And then he’s taking Harry in his mouth while simultaneously pushing two fingers into the tight clench of his arse, and everything goes white. There’s a ringing in Harry’s ears like the aftermath of an explosion and he thinks that might not be too far from the truth because now there are brilliant starbursts of colour overtaking his vision. He can barely hear himself over the chaos that’s consuming his mind, but he knows he’s being loud. Somehow, Louis’ voice cuts through the fog and rings out clear as a bell.

“Beautiful, baby. Sound so pretty for me.”

The rest of the process is a bit lost to the fray; it’s a whirlwind of sensation, a symphony of breathy moans and whispered praise. Harry comes back to himself when he notices Louis ripping open the condom packet and rolling it on.

“Ready, baby?” He checks, giving himself a generous coating of lube.

“ ‘M so ready, Lou. _Please_.”

“Shh, baby, it’s okay. We have time. We have so much time, and we can—I’m all yours. No more waiting,” Louis promises as he surges up to press their lips together, a frantic clash of mouths that has their teeth scraping and their tongues tangling. It’s messy and desperate and so fucking good. And then he’s lining himself up and pushing in. He’s slow and careful with it, of course he is. Harry expected nothing less than for him to be an exceedingly conscientious and giving lover, attuned to his partner’s body and meticulous about their pleasure. 

Louis reaches a hand down between them and uses his index finger to trace the circumference of Harry’s rim where it’s stretched around him. He caresses the taut skin with gentle strokes as if he’s trying to get Harry’s body to yield to him. The gesture is so tender and intimate that Harry feels his nose sting and his eyes prickle with unshed tears – awed and completely overwhelmed.

“That’s it, baby, let me in. Take all of me,” Louis encourages as he moves deeper. “Feels like heaven inside you. Like you were made just for me.”

“Just for you, Louis,” Harry promises, looking right into his eyes. “Only for you.”

Louis helps Harry up onto his elbows, cupping the back of his neck and coaxing him to look down to where their bodies are joined. “See how perfectly we fit, love? How beautiful we are together? _God, look at you_ ,” he marvels as he releases a guttural moan, shaking his head like he’s trying to resurface from a daydream. “You’re taking me so well, baby. So fucking gorgeous.”

Truer words couldn’t have been spoken. Harry’s body accommodates Louis easily – _beautifully_ – just like he always knew it would. Because he and Louis…they’re perfect for each other. They’ve fit together like a glove in every possible way since the very first day they met, so why would this be any different? The way his body just completely surrenders to Louis, just takes everything Louis gives and thirsts for more, has those unshed tears in Harry’s eyes welling up and spilling over. There aren’t words to describe the intensity of the emotion he’s feeling.

He lets out the sob he was holding with a wet gasp of, “ _Lou_.”

Louis leans down to suck a love bite right over Harry’s heart. The skin there is thin and tender, as it’s pulled tight over the swell of Harry’s pectoral muscle, the sensation of Louis’ mouth on him so much more intense because Harry can literally feel his heart pumping out the blood that’s rushing to the area and being drawn to the surface by Louis’ lips.

Louis pulls back and laves over the skin to soothe it, a gorgeous, breathy moan falling from his lips as he admires his handiwork. Harry feels it against his skin, the air from Louis’ lungs making him shiver as it blows over the area that’s damp from his mouth. It’s so wonderfully intimate, just that simple action, the blissful reality that it’s _Louis’_ saliva on his body and _Louis’_ breath on his skin. He feels a little silly getting so emotional over a love bite when Louis is literally _inside_ him, but then Louis is pushing his fingers into the bruise and whispering, “ _mine_ ,” and it’s abundantly clear to Harry why he’s feeling so overwhelmed.

Louis is _claiming_ him, but not in a possessive or territorial way. It’s a promise, an acknowledgement of the fact that Harry’s heart has changed hands, and Louis is now the one responsible for its care. It’s beautiful, is what it is. Harry couldn’t have chosen a better, more worthy person to give his heart to.

They stay there for a moment, Louis’ hand still on his chest, just gazing at each other as they breathe the same air.

“Lou,” Harry says meaningfully, “ _please_.”

Louis silences him with a kiss, and starts to move. “ _Fuck_ ,” he swears after a few tentative thrusts. It’s already so much better than it has any right to be.

“Mmm,” Harry agrees. He slides his hands down to cup Louis’ arse, relishing the feel of the muscles working beneath his skin. “ _Harder_.”

Louis moans and buries himself further inside, his hips snapping relentlessly like all he was waiting for was permission to do so. He pushes himself up on his forearms, changing the angle to search out Harry’s prostate. It doesn’t take him long to find it.

Harry is lost somewhere – completely overwhelmed with pleasure – and as he stumbles through the fog he finds little points of light and reason to reach out and grasp onto: the ragged pattern of Louis’ breathing, their clothes tangled up and abandoned on the floor boards next to them, the way his lips tingle as Louis’ name falls from them over and over in an increasingly more desperate refrain, the tear drops that escape the corners of Louis’ eyes and bury themselves in the hollows of Harry’s collar bones, the wetness of his own eyes, the purposeful press of Louis’ finger tips into the ink on Harry’s inner bicep (the first word Louis ever spoke to him etched permanently into his skin), the space between Louis’ heart beats where Harry swears he can hear an echo of his own name. The whole of Harry’s world is narrowed down to this one beautiful, brilliant, sunshine boy, and the place where their two bodies have blurred into one.

The sound of Louis moaning loudly penetrates the haze that has settled around Harry.

“ _Oh God_ —fuck!” Louis practically shouts. “ _Christ_ , your arse, babe. Feels like it was made to take my cock. You look so fucking good underneath me, writhing on my dick. Feel so hot and tight and wet and perfect around me. _So fucking perfect_.” Harry keens as Louis’ hips stutter wildly, caught up in his words and held captive by the passion behind them. Louis mouths along Harry’s jaw, his breath scorching on Harry’s skin as he makes his way to his ear to murmur, “Just wanna kiss you and hold you and make you laugh and make you come for the rest of my life. Love you so fucking much, Haz.”

And this is what Harry had always hoped it would be like between them, the perfect combination of their insane chemistry that makes him feel so hot he sometimes thinks he could spontaneously combust, and words so sweet and tender they have to be whispered because they’re too fragile and honest for anything louder.

“Oh god, _Louis_ ,” he cries out, his back bowing in pleasure from the force of Louis’ thrusts.

Louis, apparently, wants to kill him because—

“Gonna fucking marry you, Harry. Gonna have babies with you and raise a family with you and spend every day of the rest of my life loving you.”

“Yeah?” Harry gasps, his voice cracking.

“ _Fuck yeah_. Can hardly wait. ‘S all I ever think about.”

“Shit, Lou, I want it. Want it so fucking much. Love you so much.”

“You can have it, baby. You can have it all. ‘M gonna give you everything.”

“ _Nngh_ —Louis, I love you.”

“I love you, Harry. No one has ever loved anyone as much as I love you. You’re so beautiful, baby. So bloody gorgeous I can’t ever take my eyes off you. Can you do something for me?”

Harry tries his best to nod, but he can feel his orgasm building at the base of his spine, curling in the pit of his stomach, tugging just behind his navel, and it’s on the verge of overwhelming him. The feeling sinks its teeth into him, dragging him forward and he’s completely powerless to stop it. He could scratch and claw and dig his heels in, but why would he when it’s so much easier to—

“Let go, baby,” Louis instructs, leaning down once again to whisper in Harry’s ear, then moving to mouth sloppily at his neck. “C’mon, love, give it up for me. You’re mine, yeah? Fuck, Harry, I love you so much.”

Harry – who has never been able to deny Louis anything – throws his head back and just _comes_. Completely untouched. Louis grabs onto both of Harry’s hands, laces their fingers together and squeezes tight as he follows right behind with a strangled shout of, “ _Harry_.”

They attempt a kiss as Louis collapses against his chest, but they’re both panting too hard to put much effort into it; the sentiment is there just the same. Eventually, they give up trying and focus their energy instead on just breathing together. Louis drops his head to Harry’s chest and they lie tangled up and bask in the afterglow. Firelight dances across Louis’ bare skin, and Harry chases the shadows down his back, tracing over the abstract patterns and dark silhouettes with the tips of his fingers.

 _How will I ever get enough of you?_ Harry wonders as Louis holds him close, close, closer, and still it’s not close enough. He could crawl under Louis’ skin and still he probably wouldn’t be fully satisfied with the proximity. _Never enough. I can never get enough of you_.

After a few minutes have gone by in which they’ve both (mostly) managed to catch their breath, Louis lifts his head to look up at Harry from where he’s still sprawled across his chest.

“Hey, angel,” he murmurs quietly, pressing the words into Harry’s flushed, sweat-dampened skin along with a kiss. “Y’alright?”

Angel. _Fuck_. How is it even possible that Harry gets to love this absolute dreamboat of a boy for the rest of his life? He’s not sure what he’s ever done to deserve it, but he sends up a silent prayer of gratitude to whoever decided that he was worthy of getting to be loved by Louis Tomlinson.

“Never been better, Lou. Best day of my life.”

“This is only the beginning, love.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had such a hard time narrowing down the songs I wanted each of the boys to sing for karaoke (hence why I cheated a bit with Louis and had him sing two). Embarrassingly enough, it was the scene that took me the longest to write for this chapter because I just couldn’t make up my mind.
> 
> I knew I wanted either Liam or Zayn to sing Bruno Mars because both of their voices would lend well to his music, but the deciding factor was the cheeky little reference to _Bedroom Floor_ I snuck in by having Liam sing _Versace On The Floor._
> 
> I went with The Weeknd for Zayn because I think he would sound absolutely incredible covering that song. Also, it’s a nod to my nude modeling fic, wherein I mentioned Zayn having that song on his phone. So if you've read that story and caught the reference, kudos to you :)
> 
> Niall was the hardest for me to choose a song for, but I picked _Shiver_ for him because I’ve always thought it was a really sexy song and I think the type of voice he has would go well with the style of it.
> 
> I don’t care what he told James during his carpool karaoke, it is my personal head cannon that Harry’s karaoke song is _Sex On Fire,_ because, c’mon, it’s perfect for him. Lord help us all if he were to ever cover that song live! It’d be like the _Take Me To Church_ situation all over again.
> 
> Lastly, can we all just take a moment to appreciate the visual of Louis singing Beat It?! I mean, his voice was made to sing Michael Jackson if you ask me, and when he mentioned wishing he could have had the chance to meet him in that AMA interview he did a while back it just further confirmed my theory. And then of course I had to have him sing _Shape Of You_ (which is the title of another one of my fics, shameless self-promotion right there haha) because I could vividly picture him dancing to it and singing the _c’mon be my baby_ bit to Harry. 
> 
> Okay, now on to the most important thing about this chapter...after four years, H&L finally got it together!!!
> 
> I realize that Ed Sheeran is the one who wrote 18, not Harry, but since this is an H&L fic inspired by an Ed Sheeran music video, I figured it wouldn't be too much of a stretch to change that little detail. It's all for the sake of love and literature, lovelies!
> 
> Coincidentally, just as I clicked the save button after I finished editing this chapter, the song that inspired this entire fic came on my Ed Sheeran Pandora station. I guess you could say the timing was pretty _Perfect_ ;) 
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading. I live for your comments, so please do let me know what you think. Xx


	6. Darling just kiss me slow, your heart is all I own, and in your eyes you're holding mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis surprises Harry by giving him a very unexpected "first."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here it is, the final chapter, only a month and a half after my last update...oops! I'm so sorry, loves. Better late than never, right? The reason it took me so long to post this is because I edited it so many times that I eventually grew sick of looking at it altogether and had to walk away to clear my head for a while. I came back to it tonight and gave it one final, grueling edit, and I think I'm finally ready to share it with you all now. 
> 
> As a writer, I've always considered myself to be more of a sprinter than a long distance runner; meaning, I'm fairly confident in my ability to churn out a short story and know that the end result is something I can be proud of, but I've always felt insecure when it comes to writing proper, novel-length stories. Especially when there are so many other incredible ones out there in this fandom. Comparison really is the thief of joy, friends, let me tell ya!
> 
> That being said, writing this piece has been a true challenge for me, and I'm proud of myself for sticking with it. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has gone on this journey with me, especially those of you who were sweet enough to take a chance on this as a WIP and leave me encouraging comments on each chapter. There's no way I would have finished this without your support. I know it's always a risk to get invested in an in-progress fic, so thank you from the bottom of my heart for putting your trust in me. 
> 
> This chapter is mostly smut with a generous helping of fluff thrown in for good measure. Enjoy! Xx.

 A short while later, Harry wakes up to a solid weight on his chest and impossibly soft lips tickling the barely there stubble on his jaw line. Reluctant to open his eyes lest he discover he’s dreaming, he squeezes them shut tighter and tilts his head to the side in a silent plea for more contact. The sound of a quiet, raspy laugh falls on his ears, softer than a fresh dusting of snow, and then those same sinfully soft lips are moving down his neck. The kisses are torturously sensual, just slow, wet presses with the perfect amount of suction and a hint of tongue.

“Mmm,” Harry moans sleepily, craning his neck for more.

The weight on top of him shifts, and then there are fingers ghosting over his collarbones and trailing down his chest, blunt nails just barely scratching over his pecs. Harry keens when the kisses on his neck begin to follow the same path downwards, and then he feels a warm, wet mouth closing around his left nipple. He opens his eyes to see Louis haloed by the glow from the smoldering embers in the fireplace behind him; his hair messy and tipped in gold, and his bare back glistening with a fine layer of sweat in the dying firelight. He lifts his head slightly to look up at Harry, trapping him in the stormy sea of his irises and holding him there. With Harry hopelessly transfixed and unable to look away, Louis furrows his brows in concentration and laves his tongue over Harry’s nipple.

“ _Please_ ,” Harry begs as he arches his back off the floor shamelessly.

He’s not sure what he’s asking for specifically, just knows he needs _more_.

“Yeah, love,” Louis rasps, his breathing shallow and rapid. “Whatever you want, hmm? Tell me what you need, baby.”

“Wanna feel your skin, wanna kiss your lips, wanna hold you,” Harry babbles, mildly incoherent, like he’s just randomly firing off items from a list somewhere in the back of his mind of all the things he wants to do with Louis now that he’s allowed.

“Do you wanna fuck me?” Louis asks, his voice sounding uncharacteristically nervous and a bit timid.

Harry sits up on his elbows and looks at Louis with a question in his eyes – _why are you nervous?_ They know each other so thoroughly, can read each other so easily, that it only takes Louis a few seconds to decipher the message and figure out what Harry’s asking him.

“I’ve never…no one’s had me like that,” he answers the unspoken question as his eyes bore into Harry’s meaningfully.

Harry very nearly chokes.

“No one’s ever been inside you?” He finally manages to stutter out as his emotions run the gamut between astonishment and elation. His head is spinning, his mind going a mile a minute because, obviously, after taking four years to get their shit together and confess their feelings to one another, he hadn’t expected there to be many firsts left for them to give to one another. Although that thought had sometimes made him sad, and had certainly been the source of some strong bouts of irrational jealousy on occasion, he had comforted himself with the notion that even though they were too late to be each other’s first, they could still be each other’s _last_ , and that, he figured, was even more meaningful. That being said, he was in no way prepared for Louis to inform him that he still had a very big first left to give. Not that he had saved himself for Harry or anything but—

“Not properly, no. Like, I’ve been fingered a couple times before and stuff, but yeah. I didn’t feel comfortable enough with anyone else I dated to let them have me like that. It’s a big deal to me – making myself vulnerable in that way – and I wanted to make sure it would be with someone I trusted completely. I wanted to wait until I was properly in love, and I never have been,” Louis finishes with a shrug. He looks at Harry coquettishly through the fan of his lashes – incandescent in the firelight, inimitable in his beauty. “Well, at least not with any of the people I _dated_ ,” he amends meaningfully, giving that word extra emphasis. “But now…”

Harry is at a total loss for words. Louis’ just implied that he did save himself for Harry, even if it was a bit indirectly, and that’s just—that’s _everything_.

“But now you want to,” Harry states.

Louis nods in agreement, a radiant smile creeping over his face in slow motion.

“With me,” Harry says with slight disbelief. He doesn’t mean to beat a dead horse here, but _fuck_ , this is really important and he needs to hear it.

“I love you. I trust you. I want you,” Louis whispers, stroking along Harry’s jaw line tenderly. “I want you to have me like no one else ever has before.”

Harry has to kiss him, _has to_. Nothing in his life has ever felt more urgent than the need to feel Louis’ soft, perfect lips against his own, to taste his warmth, his familiarity, and know that he’s home.

He brackets Louis’ forearms with his own, reaching for him so that they’re each cupping the other’s face in both hands. His thumbs land right in front of Louis’ ears while his fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck. Louis parts Harry’s lips with his tongue, licking inside feverishly as he uses his grip on Harry’s jaw to tilt his head for a better angle. Harry allows Louis to manipulate his body until it’s just right, he wants everything about this to be perfect for him.

Louis’ hot breath fills his mouth as their tongues tangle together, and _this_ right here is what Harry wants forever to be like: sharing each other’s space, breathing each other’s air, not needing anything but each other. Louis sucks on the tip of Harry’s tongue, drawing a low groan from his throat in response before pulling back. His hands move over Harry’s face, caressing him gently and reverently like he’s trying to memorise the feel of him beneath his fingertips, like the planes of Harry’s face are precious bits of geography that he wants to map out and travel over and over again. His thumb brushes across Harry’s full lower lip, spit-slick and swollen from their kiss.

“C’mon, babe, get me ready for you,” he encourages quietly, his thumb still tracing back and forth.

Harry presses a tiny kiss to the pad of Louis’ thumb, then rolls over on his stomach to search for the lube amongst the twisted mess of blankets that they’ve been using as a makeshift bed on the floor. Louis props himself up on one elbow and leans forward to start mouthing at Harry’s shoulders and back, trailing kisses over the ridge of one of his shoulder blades and sinking his teeth into the nape of his neck.

“ _Oh god, Lou_. That’s not going to help me move any faster. Fuck, your mouth feels so good.”

“Mm,” Louis hums, “could do this forever. Just lay you out and taste every inch of you.”

“I thought we had other plans?”

“Mmm, eager, are you?” Louis chides gently, playfully nipping at the juncture of Harry’s neck and shoulder.

“I’m always eager to be close to you, but the thought of—of actually…” Harry trails off, overwhelmed.

“I know, baby,” Louis soothes, moving his lips up to just beneath Harry’s ear lobe. “It’s going to be incredible.”

Harry shivers, a full body tremor that he has to close his eyes through. He can feel Louis smiling against his skin in response, and hear his quiet, pleased chuckle right next to his ear.

His fingers finally close over the bottle of lube, and he grunts as he makes to extract it from the tangle of pillows and blankets. He wastes no time rolling over on top of Louis, pinning him in place with the weight of both his body and his gaze as he uncaps the lid and slicks his fingers up. Louis opens his legs for him obligingly, shifting around a little under Harry’s body until he’s in a comfortable position on his back and Harry is hovering over him with most of his weight re-distributed to the arm he’s using to prop himself up. He bends one of Louis’ knees, moving his leg higher and hitching it around his waist. Louis gives him an encouraging smile, his eyes almost molten with love as he peers up at Harry from beneath his lashes and cranes his neck for a kiss.

“I love you,” he murmurs sweetly against Harry’s lips.

“I love you,” Harry responds with another drawn out kiss.

He works Louis open slowly and tenderly, throwing himself into the task with the kind of care and attentiveness that such a momentous act demands. Louis writhes on his fingers, panting and desperate, as sweat pours from his body.

Harry is stuck in a kind of trance – genuinely astounded as he watches the beautiful boy beneath him. He feels so overcome with love, so incredibly lucky. There’s an abundance of words lodged in his throat, ricocheting around in his head, but he’s so blown away he can’t even find the strength to open his mouth and let them spill out. Louis speaks enough for both of them, though, a constant litany of praise and encouragement falling from his lips in between the most gorgeous moans Harry has ever heard. He unabashedly tells Harry how good he’s making him feel, how much he loves him, how happy he is to be with him. Harry finds his eyes welling up in return. He never knew love could be quite like _this_. Pining over Louis for four years under the (incorrect) assumption of his love being unrequited did absolutely nothing to prepare Harry for how overwhelming, how _all-consuming_ , it feels now when that love is reciprocated.

After several assurances from Louis that he’s ready, Harry removes his fingers and slips a condom over himself. He lies down on his side next to Louis and tangles their fingers together in the space between them. Louis pulls their clasped hands up to his mouth to kiss along the ridges and valleys of Harry’s knuckles before turning his hand over to nuzzle against his pulse point. With a squeeze and a soft smile, he releases Harry’s hand and nods for him to proceed.

“I love you so much,” Harry whispers earnestly as he hitches Louis’ thigh over his hips and moves closer so that they’re half on their backs half on their sides.

“I love you too. God, we’re saps,” Louis chuckles.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Harry admits gleefully.

“Yeah,” Louis agrees, smiling dreamily. “Yeah, me either.”

Harry positions himself at Louis’ entrance, his cock just barely nudging Louis’ rim.

“Are you s—”

His words are abruptly cut off as Louis cants his hips downwards, pushing himself onto Harry’s cock and effectively stealing the breath from Harry’s lungs and all coherent thought from his brain simultaneously. Louis looks up at him a little sheepishly, chewing on his lower lip with his eyebrows raised in an impish expression that screams _sorry, not sorry_. It’s so endearing, so undeniably _Louis_ , that Harry can’t help but laugh. Louis joins in immediately, the two of them damn near delirious as they share fond smiles and sweet, breathless giggles until the force of their laughter causes their bodies to shift a bit and nudges Harry’s cock further inside Louis. Their light, airy laughter is replaced with a deep, needy moan from Harry and a surprised, pleased gasp from Louis.

“Right,” Harry deadpans, his breathing becoming progressively more laboured. “Guess we’re doing this then.”

Louis smirks seductively. “Guess so.”

They allow themselves a moment to just gaze at each other, to appreciate the gravity of what they’re about to do.

Louis trails his fingers across Harry’s collarbones, then strokes up the side of his neck to cup his face, his thumb moving lightly over his cheekbone. “You’re the only one who will ever have me like this, Harry,” he imparts with a whisper, like the words are fragile and deserve to be spoken softly, like he knows they hold the power to bring Harry to his knees. Everything about his tone radiates confidence and certainty even as his voice shakes with emotion.

“ _Lou_ ,” Harry whines – stunned – crumbling under the weight of such knowledge.

“So you better make it good,” Louis teases, trying to lighten the moment.

Harry throws his head back and barks out a loud laugh. _God, he loves this boy_.

“I’ll do my best,” he assures Louis through waning fits of laughter.

“C’mon then, Styles,” Louis taps Harry’s cheek with his finger, “show me what you’ve got.”

“You know,” Harry muses with false bravado, dragging out the vowel suggestively, “if you really want the full effect, we should get you on your hands and knees.”

“Fuck, baby. Yeah. However you want me. Just want you.”

Harry lets go of Louis’ leg where it’s been hitched over his hip, and slowly eases himself out from inside of him. Louis hisses a bit at the sensation, a displeased little groan escaping his lips as he leans up to press a kiss right over Harry’s heart, and then quickly rolls away to get up on his hands and knees. Harry wiggles underneath one of Louis’ arms, lying on his back so he’s smiling up at him cheekily.

“Watcha doing, love?” Louis questions, biting down on a grin. His eyes dance with fondness and amusement, framed beautifully by the dark smudge of his lashes. He’s stunning in any light, but Harry can’t help but notice how well the soft, ambient light being cast off the smoldering logs in the fireplace complements Louis’ features. Shadows pool in the hollows beneath his cheekbones, and catch in his lashes, elongating them even further. The glow of the flames brings out the warm, rich tones of amber and caramel in his tousled hair, and paints his skin an even more lucent gold. Then there’s the blush to his cheeks – the colour a burnished apricot – born from heat and lust, from love and rapture. He’s _resplendent_.

“Just wanted to look at you for a minute,” Harry murmurs reverently, so in awe of this creature he’s not even certain is human. He seems too angelic for earth, too lovely to behold. “You’re beautiful, you know that?” He states rhetorically, his words an echo of the same sentiment Louis had expressed to him earlier when they had made love for the first time.

“Oh my god, Curly. You don’t have to woo me. I’m not actually a virgin, you know? I’ve just never bottomed before.” Louis shakes his head, his nose scrunching up and his lips pursing forward adorably. He may be deflecting the compliment, but Harry revels in the way his blush deepens, staining his cheeks a more vivid tawny peach.

“I’m not trying to _woo_ you, Lou,” he chuckles, reaching up to stroke Louis’ face. “I’m just being honest. I’ve been holding this stuff back for four years. You’re going to have to get used to hearing it now.”

Louis turns his face to nuzzle into Harry’s hand, still shaking his head infinitesimally like he can’t quite believe this is real. Harry doesn’t blame him, he can’t believe it’s real either. _Christ_ , he’s, without a doubt, the luckiest bloke alive. “It _is_ your first time, though…” he ribs playfully, just to get a reaction from Louis.

“Oh piss off, you smug little minx!” Louis scoffs, letting out a high peal of laughter and biting at Harry’s palm. “Quit being cheeky and get in me,” he demands.

Harry snorts, so endeared by his feisty, tempestuous little fox of a lover. “So romantic, Lou.”

“I’ll leave the romance to you, babe. I’m just being honest,” Louis banters, throwing Harry’s words back at him with a teasing quirk of his brow. “And I’m _honestly_ impatient, so chop chop.” He snaps his fingers theatrically for effect.

“Alright, alright I’m going!” Harry assures him as he starts sliding out from underneath Louis, then pauses abruptly. “Kiss first,” he pleads, pushing his lips out in a pout.

“You are insatiable,” Louis accuses affectionately, dipping down to comply with Harry’s request and slotting their lips together.

“ _I’m_ insatiable?!” Harry asks incredulously. “You do realise it was _you_ who woke _me_ up in the middle of the night for round two, right?”

Louis waves the allegation away dismissively with a delicate flick of his wrist. “Yeah, yeah,” he retorts. “C’mon, love, a little less conversation, a little more touch my body.”

“Oh my god! Did you just quote an Ariana Grande song?”

“I blame Niall,” Louis says seriously, completely stone-faced.

“Ugh,” Harry groans, “let’s not talk about Niall right now.”

“Agreed,” Louis nods, both of them giggling. He glances down at Harry wickedly, mischief lighting up his features. “How about…let’s not talk at all,” he purrs seductively.

Harry grins, rolling out from beneath him completely and getting up onto his knees. He crawls back behind Louis, holding the base of his cock and nudging Louis’ thighs further apart to shift in between them. A sudden wave of nerves hits him as he lines himself up, the gravity of what he’s about to do catching up to him and punching the breath from his lungs.

Louis must sense his subtle shift in mood and feel his hesitance, because he cranes his neck to look back at Harry over his shoulder. “Alright, love?”

“Yeah, just—it’s, it’s a lot, Lou. _Shit_. I’m actually, like, properly nervous,” Harry stammers out, running a shaking hand through his messy, sex-mussed hair.

“Don’t be nervous, baby. It’s just me,” Louis soothes him – his voice gentle, his blue eyes admiring.

Harry shakes his head fervently, needing him to understand. “There’s no _just_ about it, Lou. You’re everything to me.”

“God, Harry, you’re everything to me too, baby. That’s how I know there’s no reason to be nervous. It’s just you and me, and we love each other, yeah?”

Harry deflates, nodding. “So much.”

“Then just relax, love, and show me how much.”

“Okay,” Harry agrees determinedly. “Okay, yes, I can do that.”

Louis gives him one last encouraging smile, so devastatingly beautiful that Harry feels his pulse quicken at the sight and the thought that someone so lovely could belong to him. He begins to push in slightly then pauses and retreats yet again.

“Maybe just a little more lube,” he rushes out.

“Harry!” Louis half laughs, half whines. “I’m not made of bloody porcelain. You’re not going to break me, love.”

“You may not be made of porcelain, but you’re definitely precious to me, and I don’t want to hurt you,” Harry explains, his cheeks heating up slightly because he knows how mental he must seem.

“I promise you won’t.”

“I just want to make it good for you, Lou,” he admits shyly.

“Well, I’ve got no one to compare you to, so even if you’re rubbish at it I’ll still probably think you’re brilliant.”

“Louis!” Harry whines, swatting his arse flirtatiously.

“Har- _ry_!” Louis mimics, just to make him giggle. Harry loves him for always anticipating exactly what he needs, for always knowing just how to soothe and comfort him. “In all seriousness babe,” Louis continues, “I love you for being so concerned, but you have nothing to worry about. And to be frank, you have a gorgeous dick and I’d quite like you to fuck me with it.”

“ _Lou_ ,” Harry whines again, this time in arousal.

A spark of recognition blazes behind the blue of Louis’ irises. “That what you need, baby?” He whispers huskily. “A little encouragement to get you going?”

Harry doesn’t really reply save for a tiny whimpering sound that he’s a bit embarrassed of, but Louis seems to take it as a confirmation.

“You’re so big, Haz. You’ve got such a pretty cock. Makes me shiver just thinking about feeling it inside me. I know you’re going to give it to me so good, going to fill me up so well, aren’t you, love?”

“Y-yeah,” Harry stutters dazedly.

“C’mon, baby,” Louis beseeches. “Can’t you see how much I want it? I’m ready for you.” He pushes his hips back, a silent plea for Harry to enter him.

Harry loses his breath at the visual of Louis offering himself so blatantly – hungry, wanton, shameless in his desire. It’s obscenely sexy.

“Okay. Yeah, okay,” he repeats, nodding a little to bolster his confidence. With a deep breath, he lines himself back up and pushes in as slowly and gently as possible.

Without even having to see it, he can picture the exact expression on Louis’ face – eyebrows pulled together over his eyes squeezed tightly shut, lashes fluttering softly, his teeth sunk into his lower lip. He laments the fact that he isn’t able to actually watch Louis’ face as their bodies join, but his desire to make this as good for him as possible is even stronger, and Harry knows this position is better suited to someone with less experience, the angle allowing for more comfort.

He settles his palm over the curve of Louis’ hip, his fingers flexing against the smooth skin, as he continues to push in. Louis is panting and his thighs are trembling, spread wide and hugging Harry’s own. The initial resistance Harry had felt for the first few inches has almost completely faded away, Louis’ body opening up for him in a manner that feels poetic. There’s no way to adequately describe it, they just _melt_ into one another, completely losing sight of where one of them ends and the other begins. In that moment, there’s no Harry and Louis, there’s just _them_ , together, their two separate entities merging to form a whole greater than the sum of their parts. When Harry erases the last remaining bit of space between them, it feels like the earth shifts and the stars align, everything about it cosmic and larger than life.

“Okay, I’m…I’m in? Erm, how are you—how does it feel?” He asks, his whole body trembling under the weight of experiencing such intimacy, the knowledge of being Louis’ first still so fresh in his mind and just as incomprehensible in its magnitude.

“I feel—” Louis starts. “I’ve never felt so close to anyone. I— _Harry_ , I can feel you _inside_ me. _Fuck_ , it’s—you’re everywhere. Honestly, I’m just so glad I waited for this. For you.”

“Lou, I love you so much. I can’t tell you what it means to know you trust me enough to do this with you. Thank you for waiting for me.”

“No more waiting now, yeah?”

_No more waiting_ , Harry affirms silently, the phrase having become the unofficial slogan for their newfound love. Every second he spent prolonging their union now seems like such a tragedy, such a disgraceful waste of time when they could have been doing _this_ – worshipping each other with their bodies joined as soundly as their hearts. He presses his forehead between Louis’ shoulder blades and vows determinedly to make up for every bit of lost time, to ravage him with pleasure and shower him with love and devotion. He presses a kiss to Louis’ spine, to which Louis responds by shivering and arching his back, a mellifluous sigh escaping his lips.

“Move for me, darling,” Louis pleads. “I want to feel you.”

Harry pushes into him until the pressure is so great it forces the air from his lungs. His heart feels overwhelmed to the point of bursting, like he is just as full of Louis as Louis is of him. He withdraws and drives back in repeatedly with long, smooth undulations of his hips.

“ _Mm—nnghh_ , Harry,” Louis babbles nonsensically. “Christ, you’re so fucking hung.”

Harry actually _feels_ the flush that spreads from his cheeks all the way down to his chest at Louis’ words. The sensation is like watching a flame gradually engulf the fuse on a stick of dynamite; it’s a slow, white-hot burn that tingles as it crawls over his skin.

Louis carries on speaking before he has a chance to formulate a response. “Shit, I’m so full of you. It’s—” he cuts himself off with a gasp as one of his hands creeps down his own torso to press on his lower abdomen, feeling where Harry’s so deep inside him.

Harry watches the whole thing in utter fascination, moaning in tandem with Louis as he continues to work his hips. The mere knowledge of what Louis is doing along with the echo of his words in Harry’s mind is enough to have him sweating with the effort of staving off his release.

“Baby, baby, baby,” Louis chants with each deep thrust Harry gives. Every recitation of the endearment matches up with the thud of Harry’s heart, the snap of his hips, the exhalation of his breath. They’re so gloriously in sync.

Louis would definitely be considered the more dominant one in their relationship. He’s a natural born leader, a quality Harry has long admired about him. Where Louis is loud, bright, and dynamic, Harry is docile, subdued and gentle, his softer, more delicate qualities the perfect counterbalance to Louis’ bold brashness. He’s the moon to Louis’ sun. Which just makes it that much sweeter how Louis is totally surrendering himself to Harry without an ounce of trepidation, no hesitance whatsoever. It gives Harry a bit of a head rush, the knowledge of that staggering amount of trust between them. Of course, deep down, he knows it has always been there. They have both been the most important person in each other’s lives for four years now, but actually watching that trust manifest into something tangible – the visual of Louis giving himself over completely – is another thing entirely, and it’s almost too much for Harry handle, too wonderful a feeling for him to be able to fathom.

How has he managed to become the kind of person who is deserving of that level of love, especially from someone like Louis? Luck doesn’t even begin to describe the sort of good fortune Harry (literally) stumbled onto the day he met Louis Tomlinson. The first eighteen years of his life (as well as the past four) have been nothing but a tide pushing him towards _this_ : his love, his fate, all tangled up in one beautiful boy. He and Louis were like magnets with complementing poles that had been separated, and then slowly made their way back to each other. This night is their collision; the cataclysmic homecoming they have been waiting for all their lives, even before they had known of the other’s existence. They were always destined to be together, of that Harry is absolutely certain.

He flexes his glutes, straining to cant his hips at the best angle, the one he knows will make Louis fall apart for him. After a few moments of trial and error, Louis’ thighs begin to quiver and his shoulders hunch, his head dropping to hang limply between them as he lets out a moan that can only be described as one of pure ecstasy.

“ _Oh_ , _uh, uh_ —there. _Right there_ , baby. Oh, fuck! Hazza—Harry, please.”

“Lou,” Harry pants, “Oh, god. Feels so—I can’t—fuck, _fuck_.”

“Yeah. _O-oh_ , baby, yes—don’t stop. Just like that. You’re incredible. Knew you would be. No one could ever do it better. Not gonna give anyone else the chance. I’m yours, Harry. _Fuck_ —take me, darling.”

_Take me_. Those words send Harry reeling into a freefall, and, just like that, he snaps back to his previous train of thought. He feels an intense burst of pride at the notion that they can slip into these roles just as easily as they had when their positions were reversed earlier; that Louis has no qualms about temporarily relinquishing control to Harry, and even more so that he can obviously read Harry’s slight hesitance and insecurity about being the one in charge and is doing everything in his power to encourage him. And it’s not that Harry doesn’t love having Louis like this, because he absolutely does, but it’s a little outside of their usual dynamic. Harry really enjoys giving Louis the reins and letting him do as he pleases. He would follow him anywhere, but it means the world to him to know that Louis trusts him just as much, that the feeling is mutual. Harry may generally prefer the more submissive role, but he loves that they can have both. Besides, no matter the actual, physical mechanics of it, Louis is definitely still the more vocal one, the more demonstrative. Harry likes that. He finds he needs the reassurance and the praise, and Louis gives it to him in spades.

“Oh fuck, Harry, love, you’re so good. God, _so_ good. I can’t— _nnghh_ — _baby_. Christ, I can’t get enough of you. You have me, every— _o-oh_ —every single part of me.”

Harry buries his face in the nape of Louis’ neck, immersing himself in his scent. He smells of fresh, wintry air, of evergreen and juniper, of clean sweat, of _home_. Harry loves him with all five senses and with a sixth that has yet to be named but is no less real, of that Harry is certain. His scent is the most powerful aphrodisiac, his taste the sweetest ambrosia. And as for the sight of him...for that no such words exist.

“I’m yours, Lou,” Harry declares, needing to offer up some words of his own, even if none of them seem like enough. “All I want is this – _you_ ,” Harry punctuates with a deep thrust, sliding his hands over Louis’ rib cage down to his hips and squeezing there. “Just—just want to make you feel good. ‘M so easy for you. Tell me what you want and it’s yours.” He pushes back in to the hilt and stays there for a moment, fruitlessly trying to catch his breath. There isn’t enough oxygen in the world to compensate for the accelerated rate at which it’s being forced from his lungs with his laboured, panting exhalations. As a result, his speech pattern is clumsy and halting, his voice thin and scraped raw when he continues to speak. “I, erm, I really love the way you sound like this,” he murmurs shyly, pressing a kiss behind Louis’ ear and then dragging his lips slowly down the back of his neck and along the line of his spine. “ _Always_ love how you sound – love your voice, Lou – but, erm, especially like this.”

Louis keens and arches his back into a steep bow, his sweat-damp skin brushing up against Harry’s fluttering abdominal muscles. A dense, humid heat pools between them as their bodies slip and slide together. “Just don’t stop, darling,” Louis pleads. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect. So— _fuck, baby!”_ He exclaims as they fall into a flawless rhythm, an exquisite push and pull fueled by the heat of their passion, the intensity of their love. “Shit, yes, yes, yes...just like that.”

Harry can feel Louis’ heartbeat around him, from the inside out, and if that isn’t the most intimate thing he’s ever experienced, then he doesn’t know what is. It hits him all at once – an overwhelming sense of urgency, of need, to drown in the crystalline sea of Louis’ eyes and witness every quiver of his lashes, every lust-induced dilation of his pupils. Harry _needs_ to see him. “Lou,” he gasps, his breath still coming in short, sharp bursts. “Can we—wanna get you on top for a bit.”

“Ooh, a position change! Ambitious,” Louis flirts, his breathing sounding every bit as erratic. Harry doesn’t even need to see his face to know that he’s suggestively waggling his brows right now. _God_ , even with Harry balls deep in his arse, he’s still the same sassy little shit—Harry’s so in love with him. “Pulling out the big guns for me, Styles?”

Harry laughs breathlessly, slowing down his thrusts and stroking through the hair at the nape of Louis’ neck with his fingers. He leans forward and presses his cheek to Louis’ back until he can hear the cadence of his heart – steady and solid even as it races. After a few moments of getting lost in the sound, he starts trailing kisses down Louis’ spine. The movements of his hips come to a complete stop and he just holds his position buried inside Louis as deep as their bodies will allow.

“Don’t want to lose the angle we’ve got going, but I need to see you. Your face, Lou, wanna see your face,” Harry whispers, pressing the words into the sweat-damp skin between Louis’ shoulder blades.

Louis’ head drops low again, lolling from side to side on his neck as he groans and clenches hard around Harry inside of him. “God, you’re so fucking sweet. Let’s do it, babe.”

Harry pulls out as gently as he possibly can, grimacing apologetically when Louis still makes a small noise of protest at the loss, then sits back on his heels. Louis turns around with a coy smirk, crawling over to him and placing two hands on his chest to push him onto his back with a growl – all soft and playful like a fucking sex kitten. Louis follows him down, both of them laughing and chasing each other’s lips as he situates himself on Harry’s lap.

They kiss lazily for a few minutes until Louis starts teasing Harry with barely there grinds, the cleft of his arse moving up and down the length of Harry’s shaft and driving him mad. Harry digs his fingers into Louis’ hips to hold him firmly in place. His abs flex as he sits up and wraps his arms more securely around Louis. Then, without giving him any warning, he gets to his feet, still holding Louis with his legs locked tightly around Harry’s waist.

“Holy shit, Haz!” Louis squeaks.

Harry settles down on the sofa with Louis in his lap, pulling him closer until their chests are pressed flush together and Louis’ hard cock is trapped between them.

“Want it like this, Lou,” he murmurs against Louis’ throat, his voice a deep, low rumble from how turned on he is. It sounds vaguely like thunder, which is fitting considering that Louis might as well be made of lightning – striking, electric, a force of nature. Together, they’re the perfect storm.

“Yes,” Louis consents immediately, nodding his head furiously. He scrambles up onto his knees and sucks his lower lip into his mouth in concentration as he reaches back to seize Harry’s cock in a tight grip.

Harry finds himself biting his own lip as Louis gets situated and teases the head of Harry’s cock in small, tantalizing circles around his rim until he’s shivering.

“C’mon, baby,” he encourages softly under his breath. His voice is so faint that maybe he doesn’t even realise he’s said the words out loud. Harry hears them regardless, and lifts his hips up incrementally as Louis holds him steady and guides him back inside.

The initial breach has Louis gasping like the first time all over again. He throws his head back, his brows furrowed and mouth hanging open without any sound spilling out as he sinks down slowly like he’s savouring it. When he’s taken roughly half of Harry’s length, he releases his hold on him and instead clamps his hands down on Harry’s shoulders to brace himself for the rest. Harry is trembling and sweating and digging his toes into the carpet by the time the process is complete and Louis is flush against his hips.

“Is it—is this okay?” He asks worriedly, focusing all his will power on keeping his body as still as possible until he can get a read on how Louis is feeling. “I know it can be kind of intense like this, especially for your first time. It doesn’t—I’m not hurting you, am I?”

Louis exhales a shaky laugh, his eyes soft and fond as they trace over Harry’s concerned face. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Erm, y-yes. You can tell me anything, Lou.”

Louis licks over his lips to wet them, tilting his head to the side with a small smirk, his eyes never leaving Harry’s, which are wide with curiosity. “When I went to visit Zayn just after he moved to Amsterdam, he took me to a sex shop.” Harry’s eyes widen even further. Louis snickers quietly and toys with one of the curls at the nape of Harry’s neck. “It was a joke, mostly,” he continues with a shrug and another airy chuckle. “You know how the lads like to meddle about in everyone else’s love lives. Anyway, I thought we were just going to poke around, have a bit of a laugh, but I kind of ended up buying a, erm, a…toy?” Harry inhales sharply at the mere mention, an assortment of images so hot it’s nearly unbearable already starting to race through his mind. Louis bites his lip coyly, and gives the lock of hair still twisted between his fingers a gentle tug. “And ever since then, every time I’ve used it, _this_ is what I was thinking about: you stretching me out, filling me up. I always wanted it to be you, Harry.” Louis pauses and licks his lips yet again. “You wanna know another secret?” Harry nods helplessly, barely breathing at this point. “This thing was like proper massive, right? Like, Zayn gave me so much shit for buying it. You should have seen the look on his face.” Louis leans forward until his hot breath is ghosting over Harry’s ear, his wet lips teasing over the shell of it. “You’re bigger,” he _purrs_.

There’s an explosion behind Harry’s eyes when he squeezes them shut, and he realises for the first time that Louis has subtly started to move throughout the course of his little confession. Harry moans softly and rocks his hips up as the sensation hits him full force, Louis’ words still swimming in his head. “Louis,” he whines, feeling like he’s coming apart at the seams, frantic with equal parts love and lust.

“ _Harry_ ,” Louis moans right back, just as breathy, just as desperate.

“God _, Louis_ ,” Harry repeats, because that’s what his poor, overwhelmed brain has been reduced to: a litany of curses and chants of Louis’ name. Because that’s what _Harry_ has been reduced to: nothing but _Louis, Louis, Louis_. In this moment, he’s the only thing Harry knows, the only thing that makes sense.

Louis’ fingers carefully and reverently caress his face – his eyebrows, his lips, his cheeks, his jawline – and it feels like he’s tracing the glimmering edges of Harry’s soul instead, like he’s touching the most intimate, integral part of him. Harry closes his eyes with a heavy, blissful sigh, and feels Louis’ thumb gently carving into his cheek until he smiles and his dimple appears, providing a void for Louis to fill with his fingertip. Harry flutters his eyes open languidly, content to take his time, and is met with the most beautiful sight: a canvas washed in hues of gold, cerulean, and apricot. The colours blend and blur in the most exquisite way to arrange themselves into the flushed cheeks, bright eyes, softly quirked lips, and flawless complexion of the boy he loves with all his heart.

Louis’ lips slowly pull back over his teeth in a lazy, indulgent smile as he lets his hands slip off Harry’s shoulders and down his chest. He digs his fingers into the meat of Harry’s pecs, his thumbs grazing lightly over Harry’s nipples. It’s a move that drives Harry utterly wild, the teasing touch sending him into a frenzy as he throws his head back against the sofa and thrashes from side to side. His hips cant off the cushions automatically, slamming up into Louis with considerably more force and speed than he had been using previously. Louis works his own hips like a pro as he claws at Harry’s chest, scrabbling for purchase as he bounces along.

“Shit,” he gasps, the curse sounding like it’s been punched out of him. “Yes, fuck me, Harry. Fuck me harder.”

He rubs the pads of his fingers relentlessly over Harry’s nipples, and Harry thinks he very well may be losing his mind. He deliberately slows down the pace of his thrusts so he can focus on going hard and deep, grabbing onto Louis’ hips and angling him as he searches out his sweet spot. He nearly splits his lip he’s chewing it so hard in concentration – sweat trickling down his temples, his fringe falling in his eyes. When he finds what he’s looking for and starts nailing it dead on with precise, calculated manoeuvres of his hips, Louis cries out and pinches both of Harry’s nipples hard, causing Harry to mewl and buck in return. Louis seems as affected by what he’s doing to Harry as he is by the non-stop stimulation of his prostate. His eyes are blown wide and glassy and he’s looking at Harry like he’s holy.

“Mm, you like that?” He asks seductively, rolling Harry’s nipples between his fingers for emphasis. It’s a rather superfluous question, considering how Harry arches his back and pushes himself into Louis’ hands shamelessly, but Louis has always been an insufferable tease. Harry would be lying if he said he didn’t love that about him, and the way that particular quality manifests in a sexual context is fucking mind-blowing. “You want my mouth, baby?”

Harry’s vision damn near whites out at the mere suggestion. “ _Fuck_ —yeah, put it on me, Lou. _Please_ ,” he begs, totally unabashed about the needy whine of his ordinarily deep voice. Something about being so desperate and wanton for Louis’ touch makes him feel sexy in a way that’s hard to articulate, the thought of being completely at Louis’ mercy more arousing than it has any right to be.

Louis bows his back, his body curling inwards with impressive flexibility so he can get his mouth level with Harry’s nipples. He kisses over the swell of Harry’s pecs while Harry’s rapidly heaving chest aches from the exquisite torture of it. The soft, languid kisses slowly evolve into something more promising as Louis’ mouth gets closer and closer to where Harry wants it most. He gasps when Louis finally brushes over his nipple. Louis’ lips part, his tongue darting out and lazily flicking at the already stiffened bud, teasing Harry just the way he likes without him even having to ask for it. He continues his pattern of warm, wet licks and maddening swirls of his tongue, driving Harry to the brink of insanity and setting his blood on fire with need. By the time he closes his lips and begins to suck in earnest, Harry is whimpering and sweating with the effort of holding himself on the edge and not tumbling over.

“Yeah?” Louis rasps as he pulls back to blow air over Harry’s damp skin – wet from having Louis’ mouth on him.

“Oh, god—yes, Louis, _yes_ ,” Harry practically screams.

“Shit, they’re so sensitive. You’re so responsive. That’s so fucking hot, baby. Bet I could make you come just from this sometime.”

“Lou,” Harry sobs.

“How ‘bout it, love? Will you let me do that for you? Lay you out and play with your nipples, tease you with my fingers until you’re begging for my mouth, then make you come all over yourself completely untouched.”

“ _F-fuck._ Please.”

“There’s so much I want to do with you, love. We’ll just have to add that to the list, hmm? But for now, I need you to fuck me. C’mon, Haz, I can feel how close you are, baby. I’m so close too. Think we can come together?”

“High expectations for your first time, don’t you think?” Harry teases breathlessly as he resumes his previous rhythm of deep, hard thrusts with a slow drag on the way out.

“You’re a stud,” Louis says coyly, gripping Harry’s shoulders to be able to grind down and meet him. “I know you can do it.”

Harry swears he can actually feel his ego being stroked by the praise. Louis calling him a stud satisfies some primal urge deep inside of him that longs to be assured of his manhood. It’s slightly embarrassing, his reaction, but he really can’t help himself when the boy of his dreams, the star of every single one of his fantasies, is squirming on his cock and commending his sexual prowess. He feels a bit like a caveman, but hearing it is just so inexplicably, undeniably hot. “I can,” he replies confidently, spurred on by Louis’ obvious faith in him. “I can get you there, just tell me what you need. Want it faster?”

“Touch me,” Louis instructs, taking one of Harry’s hands and guiding it to cup his straining erection. “Tease me a little bit,” he says, encouraging Harry to rub and squeeze at the tip with his fingers. “Fuck, Harry, that’s perfect, baby. Just like that. You’re going to make me come. You right there with me, sweetheart?”

And he is. Harry is _right there_ , teetering on the edge of his release, but something holds him back. It’s like being woken abruptly from the midst of a dream. That coiling sensation deep in the pit of his belly begins to unravel, and he starts to panic. He doesn’t want it to be over, he doesn’t want it to end like this. The spark between them has been burning so bright and hot, and it’s been _earth-shattering_ , truly. Harry always knew that he and Louis had amazing chemistry, but letting it ignite and run wild has been an eye-opening experience, one he’s immensely grateful for. Right now, though, he wants to stop time, to slow everything to a crawl, and let their passion smolder instead of blaze. He craves that element of tenderness that can sometimes be overshadowed by frenzied lust.

“Can we just—can we slow down a bit, Lou? I want this to last just a little longer. ‘M not ready to let go yet.”

Louis looks into his eyes, and it’s like he’s reading Harry’s innermost thoughts, like the gates of Harry’s mind have swung open wide to let him in. His mouth curls slowly into an adoring smile that says he’s willing to indulge Harry’s every whim, that he’s devoted to him completely. He doesn’t need to voice his agreement with Harry’s request, it’s written plainly all over his face.

“Don’t wanna fuck,” Harry murmurs as he feels heat bloom on his already flushed cheeks. “Want us to make love again.”

“It’s all making love when it’s us, Hazza,” Louis assures him with a gentle smile, blue eyes shining with sincerity. And _yeah_ , Harry thinks of Louis’ assertion, _that sounds about right_.

He grabs both of Louis’ hands, lacing their fingers together and giving him something to hold on to, something to relieve the strain on his glorious thighs as he works himself up and down in Harry’s lap. Harry leans closer, bending to kiss across Louis’ knuckles where they’re slotted between his own. Their eyes catch and hold as Harry plants a chaste kiss to the back of Louis’ hand then moves to the other one to brush his lips over it as well. When he’s finished, he draws Louis’ hands forward and places them on his shoulders, dropping his own down to Louis’ hips to help guide his movements and make it as good for him as possible.

“Fuck, feels so amazing. Love you so much,” Louis pants, shrugging up one shoulder to wipe the sweat from his brow. More of it trickles down his neck and pools in the dips of his collarbones, glistening there in a way that’s far too tempting for Harry to resist. He leans forward and licks at it, tasting Louis’ heat. The sharp, bittersweet flavour explodes on his tongue and has him groaning into Louis’ neck.

“Love you, Lou. Love the way you taste. Want to taste all of you...”

Louis chokes out a deep, guttural moan and starts rocking faster, riding Harry like he’s gone absolutely mad for it. Harry knows he must be getting tired, especially with this being their second round of the night, so he hooks one arm completely around Louis’ slender waist and brings his other hand up to clasp the back of Louis’ neck, gently twisting his fingers into the sweat-damp hair there. “Lean on me, Lou,” he whispers directly into his ear. “Let me do all the work for a while. Just let me hold you.”

Louis sighs euphorically and nudges Harry’s cheek with his nose, coaxing him to turn his face so they can connect their lips in a slow, deep kiss. Harry mimics the mechanics of it with their hips, pulling Louis as close to him as possible and holding him still to thrust up into him. Once he finds the right angle, he holds his position and manipulates Louis’ body in his lap so they’re grinding together rather than thrusting, each movement slow and achingly sensual.

They’ve both gone quiet, each of them wordlessly understanding that this moment seems sacred and wanting to treat it with the reverence it deserves. They kiss and kiss and kiss, hands wandering over every part of each other to express all the sentiments they’re not speaking out loud. A brush of Harry’s thumb over Louis’ cheekbone says, ‘ _you’re beautiful._ ’ A bite to Harry’s lower lip says, ‘ _you’re mine_.’ The press of their foreheads together means, ‘ _I love you forever,_ ’ and Louis bringing Harry’s hand up to his chest and holding it there says, ‘ _you’ll always be in my heart._ ’

They’re both sweating and trembling, emotion clouding their eyes with a few rogue tears escaping down their cheeks, and Harry feels it against his lips when Louis starts to fall apart. Louis’ lips quiver as his breath stutters out on a shaky moan, and he presses his forehead harder against Harry’s.

“Come for me, Lou,” Harry whispers, bringing his hands up on either side of Louis’ face and gently tilting his head back to kiss down his throat. He seals his lips right over Louis’ pulse point and leaves them there, closing his eyes and thanking God for the heartbeat he feels beneath his lips and the boy in his arms to which it belongs.

“Together,” Louis amends, his breath ragged, head still thrown back gorgeously. He’s exquisite – a consummate beauty, an absolute work of art.

Harry could never deny him a single thing, and he most certainly isn’t going to deny him this. “ _Together_ ,” he agrees, squeezing his eyes shut and burying his face in the crook of Louis’ neck where his scent is strong and pure. He loses himself for a moment, but as he begins to fall Louis is right there to anchor him as always, framing Harry’s face with careful, gentle hands and bringing their foreheads back together.

“Oh Harry, Hazza, baby—love you, love you, _love you—”_ Louis gasps as he clenches around Harry and comes between them, Harry right on his heels.

Harry’s hands spasm against Louis’ hips as the seemingly endless waves of pleasure crest over him and drag him under. They fall away limply when the delicious tension that had drawn his body taut finally snaps and leaves him weak and boneless like a marionette with its strings cut. Eventually, he walks his fingers up Louis’ stomach and over his ribs to rest his palm flat against his wildly beating heart. “I _love_ you,” he declares passionately. “Louis, I love you so much.”

Louis dips down and nudges Harry’s cheek with his forehead, tickling his skin with butterfly kisses until they’re both giggling breathlessly and sealing their mouths together in a proper kiss. Louis draws from Harry’s lips like he’s sucking venom from a wound, like he’s giving him life. They kiss slow and tender for what feels like an eternity – yet it still isn’t long enough to satisfy Harry’s insatiable need for him – and only break apart when Harry’s afraid he’ll hurt Louis when he pulls out if he stays inside him much longer. He kisses him deeply as he withdraws in an attempt to distract him from the discomfort, and drags him along to the bathroom to dispose of the condom (plus the one still on the floor from earlier). They hold hands the whole way, and only let go of each other for as long as it takes to quickly wipe off with a damp flannel.

If Harry had a struggled with being away from Louis before, now he can’t even bear the thought of it. It’s like when their bodies joined they each left behind a part of themselves inside the other and now those parts are tethered by an invisible cord binding them together, and any attempt at separation will result in a painful tugging sensation, a deep, somatic ache emanating from the epicentre of Harry’s heart. That’s probably an exceedingly sappy and ridiculous thought to have, but Harry really can’t be bothered. It’s par for the course really, all his thoughts about Louis are pretty sappy and ridiculous. Thankfully though, Louis seems to be on the same page as he walks backwards down the hall – hands laced securely with Harry’s, eyes never leaving his. Harry can’t stop smiling, his grin having become a permanent fixture on his face at this point. Louis is no better, which only serves to make Harry smile even more.

When they return to the lounge, they wordlessly settle back down in their nest of blankets on the floor in front of the hearth – Harry lying on his back with Louis propped up on one elbow hovering over him as he uses his free hand to draw nonsensical patterns on Harry’s chest.

“Will you sing it again for me, baby?” He asks quietly, bending to place a single kiss over Harry’s heart (right on top of the love bite he had given him earlier) before leaning back to meet his eyes imploringly.

Harry immediately goes to grab his guitar, but Louis stills him by curling a hand around his bicep and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Just your voice, yeah? Wanna hear _you_.”

So Harry sings a cappella under the spotlight of Louis’ eyes and to the soundtrack of their hearts beating in tandem and their breath filling the spaces between the lyrics. Louis hums along softly here and there, his brows knit adorably in concentration like he’s trying to absorb the words through his bloodstream and permanently catalogue them in his mind.

“Can’t believe you wrote me a song,” he murmurs once Harry is finished, pushing his forehead into the crook of Harry’s neck and kissing across his collarbones. He starts humming the melody into Harry’s skin, lips slipping over his chest in a disjointed rhythm. “ _Kiss me where I lay down_ ,” he sings. His gorgeous, raspy voice is hollow in the best way, so Harry can hear every strain of emotion running through it. Louis lifts his head to join their lips and eagerly licks into Harry’s mouth. They part with an audible smack a few moments later so he can continue to sing, “ _my hands pressed to your cheeks_.”

He cradles Harry’s face between his hands, thumbing over his cheekbones and looking down at him with such love, such tender adoration in his eyes that Harry’s heart clenches hard in his chest. He’s seriously considering asking Louis to pinch him because none of this feels real. Who is _this_ lucky? He doesn’t end up having to ask, however, because Louis is kissing him again, and that’s as good an answer as any. The firm press of their lips, the tickle of Louis’ breath, the slick heat of their tongues sliding together, the delicious taste of him is completely unparalleled. Harry is hopelessly, irrevocably addicted. 

“Do you know what we should do?” Louis muses aloud after a moment, his eyes lighting up with that familiar spark of mischief.

“What?” Harry asks eagerly. It’s the middle of the night and he’s exhausted after two rounds of mind-blowing sex, but it doesn’t matter because they’re in love and he will do literally anything with Louis.

“C’mon,” Louis says with a smile, nudging at Harry to encourage him to get up.

Harry giggles as Louis prods at him and helps him to his feet. “What are we—” he starts, only to be cut off by Louis’ mouth on his. It’s the only answer Harry needs honestly.

“Just, c’mon,” Louis replies cryptically when their lips part – his eyes bright, his smile coy. He reaches for Harry’s lavender jumper and tosses his own pale blue one at Harry with a wink. “I want my skin to smell like you,” he offers simply in explanation as he shrugs it on, the soft pastel colour contrasting beautifully with his warm skin tone and making both his eyes and his smile look even brighter somehow. Harry nearly melts into a puddle on the floor, both from hearing those words and from the sight of Louis looking so soft and gorgeous in his clothes.

They dress quickly, pull on their snow boots, and then Louis links their fingers together and tows Harry outside. It’s still snowing, and when Louis turns over his shoulder to smile at Harry as he pulls him along, there are already snowflakes clinging to his eyelashes, his fringe, the tip of his nose. A memory hits Harry so suddenly and forcefully that he feels like a fist is squeezing around his heart – four years ago to the very day in a clearing not far from where he and Louis are currently standing…

_Anne is fussing with Harry’s tie, obviously needing something to keep her hands busy, when Harry tunes in to a conversation taking place just over his mum’s shoulder between Louis and his Nan._

_“Beautiful ceremony,” his Nan comments, the wistfulness of her tone causing Harry to suspect that she is reminiscing about her own wedding day. “I’ve always loved weddings. There’s something so hopeful about watching two people commit their lives to one another. The world can always use more of that.”_

_Louis nods his agreement. “I quite fancy weddings too. Can’t wait for my own if ‘m honest.”_

_“Even as young as you are?” Harry hears his Nan ask._

_Louis ducks his head a bit bashfully, like he’s all too aware that most boys his age aren’t very concerned with settling down. Harry watches his eyelashes flutter slightly against his cheek bones as he seems to collect his thoughts and work out what he wants to say in response. There are snow flakes caught in them, it’s very beautiful and very distracting. After a moment, Louis lifts his chin resolutely and Harry just about melts right where he’s standing when Louis looks directly at him and answers with a hint of a smile and a quiet but confident, “Yeah.”_

It all started with a wedding, and Harry is certain that’s where they’re heading as well. One day, in the not too distant future, Harry is going to marry Louis Tomlinson. After all, he met his soul mate when he was eighteen, it may have taken them a while to get to where they were going, but he’s always known that this is where they belong – _together_. Besides, what’re a few years, really, in terms of forever? 

“Dance with me,” Louis says as he pulls Harry close, effectively sparking another memory from the same night as the first one.

_Louis turns on his heel abruptly so he’s facing Harry once more; his eyes still alight with excitement and a trace of mischief that never fully seems to leave them. “Dance with me,” he says._

_“I thought you were knackered,” Harry teases. “Aren’t you tired of dancing?”_

_Louis stuffs his hands in his pockets and shrugs, cocking his head to the side adorably. “Haven’t had a proper slow dance yet. What kind of wedding date would I be if I didn’t give you at least one slow dance?”_

_“There’s no music,” Harry points out._

_Louis laughs, rocking back on his heels with his hands still buried in the pockets of his trousers. “Now, see, if this was one of your rom coms, Harold, I would say something ridiculously corny like ‘then we’ll make our own.’ I’ll spare us the cliché, though, because lucky for you, I’ve come prepared.”_

Harry’s memory runs parallel to his reality as he goes easily into Louis’ arms, Louis pulling out his phone just as he did all those years ago and selecting the same song – _Kiss Me_ by Ed Sheeran. Harry is overwhelmed by an onslaught of images – a compilation of every dance they’ve ever shared, from the first time timidly grinding on the dance floor then slow dancing alone in the greenhouse at Gemma’s wedding to the night they moved into their flat, drunk, giggly, and barefoot in their kitchen to yesterday in the company of their friends with Louis shimmying a scarf behind Harry’s shoulders to this very moment with snowflakes in their hair and forever in their eyes, so in love it hurts. Louis twirls Harry under their clasped hands, then dips into a low, theatrical bow to brush his lips along Harry’s knuckles, smiling up at him like an absolute loon as he tenderly kisses each one.

_“I thought you said no clichés,” Harry teases as Louis places Harry’s hand on his shoulder._

_“Couldn’t resist that one.” Louis smirks playfully, moving his own hands down to Harry’s hips._

Harry’s mind is like a skipping record, jumping back and forth between the past and the present. Between the poignant feeling of nostalgia he gets from recalling such a sweet moment of his and Louis’ history and the unparalleled love they now share, his heart is so incredibly full.

_As the music swells Harry feels tears spring to his eyes; he loves Louis so much it hurts, wants him so badly that every fibre of his being aches with it. He knows he will never feel for someone else even a fraction of what he’s feeling right now, safe in the arms of the boy who owns his heart and takes his breath away._

_Louis pulls him in closer and whispers, “Hey, Haz?”_

_Harry’s heart is beating so loudly in his chest that it would be a miracle if Louis can’t hear it. “Yeah, Lou?” He whispers back, barely even breathing._

_“You’re my favourite person.”_

_Harry squeezes his eyes tightly shut and the tears he was holding back spill over and roll silently down his cheeks. This moment feels like a tipping point, and he’s teetering on the ledge, gripped by a fear so intense it has his heart clamped in a vice, and a hope so fierce he almost feels invincible. He’s absolutely terrified to take that first step over the edge, not knowing if Louis will be there to catch him when he falls, but also wanting with all his heart and soul to take the leap. He’s paralysed by indecision, frozen in place on a precipice of what if?_

_“You’re my favourite person too.” Harry admits quietly. “I want to remember this night forever.”_

_The song comes to an end and they’re enveloped in a weighty silence as their bodies stop swaying, but they still cling to one another._

_“Let’s make sure you don’t forget it then.” Louis says resolutely, pulling back to look into Harry’s eyes._

_For a moment, Harry thinks Louis is going to kiss him, that all his dreams are about to become reality, but then Louis is stepping away from him and Harry watches all that hope crumble to ash at his feet. He feels cold in the absence of his sun._

Harry still loves Louis so much it hurts, he still wants him so badly that every fibre of his being aches with it. Louis still owns Harry’s heart, still takes his breath away, is still Harry’s very favourite person. Only now, Harry no longer has to agonise over _what ifs,_ he doesn’t ever again have to wonder whether Louis is going to kiss him. Now, he _knows_. His dreams and his reality have become so thoroughly entwined that he can’t tell where one ends and the other begins anymore. In truth, the reality of loving and being loved by Louis Tomlinson is better than any fantasy Harry could ever have possibly dreamed up, and this is only their beginning.

_Louis doesn’t go far, just over to the chair where he put his mobile. He retrieves it and then makes his way back to Harry. When he approaches, Harry sees that he’s pulled up the camera app._

_“Something to remember this by, yeah?” Louis suggests with a soft smile, holding out his phone as they both squeeze into the frame._

It takes Harry a minute to realise that Louis has just spoken those very same words out loud. He smiles cheekily as he holds up his phone, his brow arched in question. Harry beams at the camera and snuggles closer to Louis. He remembers the words he wanted to say in response to him back then, and, this time, he finally gets his chance to voice them. “How could I ever forget?” He whispers just as Louis presses his lips to Harry’s cheek and snaps the photo.

*

The next morning, Harry wakes to the sound of three very familiar voices. 

“Well, fuck me!” Says one, and Harry instantly recognises it as Niall’s lilting Irish brogue – entirely too loud as per usual. “Look at these two. I’d say last night went alright then, wouldn’t you, lads?” 

“Niall, would you shut the fuck up? You’re going to wake them,” comes Zayn’s unmistakable drawl, his voice at a much more appropriate volume. 

“Oh my God— _look_ at them!” Liam squeals, like actually _squeals_ , sounding proper ecstatic. 

Harry snuffles sleepily and burrows his head further into Louis’ chest. He’s still wearing Harry’s lavender jumper, the realisation makes Harry smile dopily and press a tiny kiss into the soft, knit fabric just over Louis’ heart. They’re sprawled out on the floor where they must have fallen asleep after coming back inside last night (earlier this morning?) with Louis on his back and Harry half on top of him, their legs intertwined and one of Louis’ hands tangled in Harry’s curls, the other wrapped protectively around his waist. 

It’s a beautiful thing to feel fragile in someone else’s arms, like you are important enough to warrant being handled with care. That’s how Louis makes Harry feel – warm and safe and, most of all, _worthy_ , as if he only deserves the sweetest of words and the gentlest of touches. Louis holds him like he has been waiting his whole life for the chance to do so, and, in a way, Harry supposes he kind of has. What a wonderful thought. 

“Are you lot quite finished?” Louis interjects sassily. He’s obviously trying to keep his voice low and even so as not to disturb the peaceful little bubble that the two of them have created around themselves, but Harry feels the vibration of it against his cheek where it’s pressed to Louis’ chest. “Or shall I pretend to be asleep for a bit longer so you wankers can continue creeping on me and my boy?” 

_My boy_. It’s such a simple statement, but Harry’s heart swells at the casual possessiveness of it. All he’s ever wanted is to belong to Louis. Now he does – truly and completely – and warmth blossoms in the pit of his stomach upon hearing the obvious pride in Louis’ voice when he says as much. It’s a bubbly, golden sort of feeling that makes Harry feel like he’s floating. He’s been doing a lot of that lately it seems. Being in love with Louis feels an awful lot like having your head in the clouds, like walking on air. 

“Oh, he’s ‘your boy’ now, is he?” Zayn asks smugly. Harry can practically hear the implied air quotes in the teasing tone of his voice. 

He feels Louis nod and press a kiss to his temple, his fingers softly carding through Harry’s curls. “He’s the love of my life,” he says plainly, like it’s a given, and Harry’s heart nearly bursts. It feels like a supernova is trapped within the confines of his ribcage, like, maybe, if he looks down, his skin will be glowing and light will be shooting out of his finger tips. “He’s also a terrible actor and thinks I can’t tell when he’s pretending to be asleep,” Louis teases slyly. “I know you’re faking, darling,” he whispers in Harry’s ear, low enough that none of the other boys can hear him. 

Harry lets out an indignant little squeak and hides his face in Louis’ shoulder, burying his growing smile there. 

“Go on, love,” Louis coaxes gently, his forefinger slipping underneath Harry’s chin. “Let’s see those beautiful green eyes of yours, hm?” Harry blushes like mad and peeks up at Louis bashfully, biting his lower lip. “There they are. Hi, baby,” Louis coos, his voice so soft and fond and full of love that Harry thinks it could melt even the coldest of hearts. 

“Hi, Lou,” he croaks in his sleep-husky morning voice, grinning as he nudges their noses together. 

Louis hums and uses his knuckle to tilt Harry’s chin up and kiss him softly, his fingers stroking the underside of his jaw. 

Harry forgets they have an audience for a moment as he gets lost in the feel of Louis’ perfect lips against his, but then he sees a flicker of movement in his peripheral vision and reluctantly pulls away from Louis to try to determine the source of this most unwelcome disruption. He looks over just in time to see Liam collapse. Like, he just properly falls over. Luckily, Zayn is there to catch him. 

“Do you,” he says breathlessly as he points an accusing finger at Harry and Louis, not sounding very ecstatic anymore, “have any idea how hard it’s been watching you two idiots dance around each other for _four fucking years_ and not being able to say a bloody thing?” He laughs humourlessly and buries his face in his hands, letting out a heavy exhale. Zayn pats him on the back consolingly, a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips. 

Harry and Louis exchange perplexed looks and awkwardly scramble to their feet, unsure of how to respond. 

“Liam, are you all right?” Harry asks tentatively after a moment, concerned. 

Liam’s shoulders start to shake, and Harry feels his stomach plummet with the disturbing revelation that Liam appears to be crying. Zayn still has that knowing smile on his face, though, and a comforting hand on Liam’s shoulder, and Harry is more confused than ever. He looks to Louis helplessly, finding a mirror image of his own bewilderment reflected back at him in the clear blue of Louis’ eyes. Oddly enough, when Liam removes his hands from his face a moment later, he looks like the picture of happiness – grinning like an absolute maniac as deep, rumbling guffaws spill from his body. He’s _laughing_. 

“ ‘Course I’m all right,” he snorts incredulously, wiping at the corners of his eyes. “I’m so bloody happy for you lads!” 

And then he’s straightening himself up and opening his arms in invitation and all five of them wordlessly fall into a group hug. It’s a lovely moment, Harry thinks, feeling the warmth of Louis’ body pressed to his chest and their three best friends surrounding them on all sides. The happiness that Niall, Liam, and Zayn feel for Harry and Louis is plain to see; it’s a palpable thing that settles peacefully in the air and encompasses them all. 

Eventually, they pull back – all heartfelt smiles and arms slung carelessly over shoulders. There’s so much love, not just between Harry and Louis, but between all five of them. Harry couldn’t have chosen better friends if he had handpicked them himself, and he is overwhelmingly grateful for all of them and the unique role they each play in his life. He never could have predicted that falling in love with Louis four years ago could have given him so much. The day the two of them met wasn’t just the start of their love story, but the beginning of the most fulfilling friendships Harry has ever had the pleasure to be a part of. He would be a completely different person if not for Louis, Liam, Niall, and Zayn and the influence they’ve had on his life. Although he and Louis were just friends at the time, it was still their love that brought all five boys together. Their relationship was the catalyst that sparked the formation of their unconventional little family, and that is truly an extraordinary thing to think about. He looks around at the beaming, supportive faces of his friends – saving Louis for last because he knows he won’t be able to tear his gaze away once their eyes meet – and it really is a beautiful moment. Well, at least it is until Niall goes and ruins it. 

"So which one of you..." he asks, whistling two short notes whilst making a circle with his thumb and forefinger and thrusting into it with two fingers on his other hand. Zayn and Liam reach forward at the exact same moment to smack him on the back of the head. "Christ! I'm just curious! Don't act like you weren't wondering too," he mutters defensively, ducking just in time to avoid another two blows from Zayn and Liam.

Harry blushes down to the tips of his toes, but Louis just laughs, squeezing Harry's hip and giving Niall an exaggerated wink. “A gentleman never tells,” he states coyly, pulling Harry further into his side and kissing the top of his shoulder.

Niall laughs too, and gives an exaggerated – but clearly fond – roll of his eyes.

“So, what’s safe to, like…” Liam interjects, trailing off awkwardly as his eyes quickly dart between all the pieces of furniture in the room with a look of comical distress.

Harry bites his lip and glances over at Louis just in time to see his eyebrows pull together as he frowns at Liam.

Niall lets out another loud bark of laughter, drawing all the boys’ attention to him and waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “I think what dear, sweet, innocent little Liam is trying to ask is if it’s safe for him to sit on the sofa or if you fucked on it.”

Liam balks at Niall’s blunt phrasing, but doesn’t correct him.

Harry’s whole fucking face is going to burn off at this rate. He knows he’s prone to frequent blushing, but this just might be a new record. “Well, we, erm, well—” he stammers incoherently, pulling at his lower lip as his cheeks heat up even more with another wave of embarrassment. “You can sit on this one,” he finally offers, sheepishly gesturing to the sofa opposite the one where, just a few short hours ago, he had Louis spread out over his lap, sweating and panting and whispering things that were equal parts overwhelmingly sweet and outrageously filthy whilst he rode Harry’s—

_Fuck_. Now was _definitely_ not the time to be reliving those memories.

“I’d probably stay away from that one though,” Louis teases cheekily, nodding at the aforementioned sofa. Then, just to be a little shit, he adds, “You also might want to avoid touching that duvet.”

Liam grimaces, but sinks down into the cushions of the sofa Harry indicated as being ‘safe.’ Niall and Zayn follow suit, sitting on either side of Liam. Completely unbothered, Louis winds his arms around Harry’s waist from behind, squeezing his hips and pulling him into his lap as he settles on the sofa they defiled. He’s just starting to nuzzle into the nape of Harry’s neck when Liam speaks up again.

“Also, what happened to the lamp?” He asks curiously, his dark eyebrows drawn together and his full lips twisted in a contemplative frown. And _oops!_ Harry had completely forgotten about that. His guilty expression and Louis’ ridiculously smug one obviously give away a little too much because then Liam is clapping his hands over his ears like an absolute child and rushing out, “Never mind, I don’t want to know!”

“Are you sure?” Louis teases, absently running his knuckles up and down Harry’s torso in a way that makes Harry shiver and shift around restlessly, leaning further into the touch. “It’s actually quite a funny story...”

“Na na na na na! Can’t hear you!” Liam hums right over Louis’ words, hands still covering his ears, causing the rest of them to giggle and Louis to shoot Harry a conspiratorial look.

He quirks his brows once in flirtation, his hands unsubtly dropping to Harry’s hips, and Harry squirms visibly, completely seduced. He’d let Louis take him right here – _again_ – without question. In fact, he might actually beg for it. He mentally chastises himself for entertaining such naughty thoughts whilst in the company of their three best mates, and tries desperately to tamp down on the smoldering embers of arousal in the pit of his belly that will easily be stoked into a proper wildfire if he doesn’t get control of himself soon.

For all his meticulous planning of how he would confess his feelings to Louis, he didn’t spare much thought to what would happen afterwards, too caught up in worrying about how Louis would respond to his declaration of love to be bothered with such minutia. He hadn’t exactly accounted for the fact that he and Louis would be spending their first day as a proper couple in close quarters with the other boys. Now he kind of wishes he had. He’s grateful for the privacy they were afforded the night before, and he loves his friends dearly, but honestly he’s counting down the minutes until he can get Louis alone again. They have a lot of time to make up for after all, and now that he’s gotten a taste of what it’s like to be with Louis ( _mind-blowing_ ), it’s as if his body has lost all sense of restraint and completely forgotten how to practise the concept of self-control.

Harry sighs, clamping his lips together tightly to suppress a whine when Louis’ thumb sneaks under the hem of his jumper and starts rubbing circles into the skin over his hipbone. When he turns his head to meet Louis’ eyes, his boyfriend is already smirking at him, like he knows exactly what Harry has been thinking. It’s going to be a very long day indeed.

*

Thankfully, Liam, Niall, and Zayn are all knackered from the previous night’s New Years Eve festivities and the three of them beg off to the loft to go have a kip, leaving Louis and Harry alone in the lounge. They resolve to take full advantage of the time while they have it, and they mutually come to the conclusion that they need to call their respective families and inform them of the change in their relationship status.

They giggle as they share how invested both their mums had been in the two of them getting together. Louis admits that his mum has been, quote, “proper up me arse” for years trying to convince him to tell Harry how he feels about him, and Harry confesses that his mum is much the same, though it’s Gemma who has truly earned the title of most annoying family member when it comes to the subject of Louis and Harry’s relationship. Over the years, her persistent nagging and pestering for Harry to, as she so lovingly phrased it, “pull your head out of your arse” and “grow some bollocks” rivals that of even Niall, Liam, and Zayn’s, which is really saying something.

After discussing it, they decide to facetime Anne and Robin first because the two of them are on holiday in Hawaii at the moment and the twelve hour time difference means it’s just gone ten p.m. there, and Harry’s parents might be asleep soon, if they aren’t already. Louis’ family is all back home in Doncaster, only an hour behind Adalheid time-wise, which puts it around nine a.m., and considering last night was New Years Eve they figure his sisters will probably be sleeping in anyway. 

As Harry makes himself comfortable on the sofa, getting his phone out and pulling up his favourites to facetime his mum, Louis fidgets in place next to him. He’s shifting around restlessly and gnawing at his lip, and when he goes to flick his fringe out of his eyes, Harry notices that his hands are shaking. The fact that he genuinely, seriously believes that he has any reason to be nervous about the two of them telling Harry’s parents that they’re together now makes Harry’s heart throb and swell with affection. It seems to be a pattern with Louis – every time Harry thinks he’s reached the apex of his feelings, that he couldn’t possibly love Louis any more than he already does, Louis will do something that proves him wrong and Harry’s heart grows just a little bit bigger to make room. 

He reaches out and stills Louis’ hand where he had been anxiously drumming his fingers against his thigh, and squeezes to implore him to look up at him. “Hey,” he prompts gently, twining their fingers together and giving Louis’ hand another reassuring squeeze. “You have absolutely nothing to worry about, Lou. They adore you, yeah? Please tell me you know that.” 

Louis lets out a trembling exhale, his eyes falling shut briefly as he appears to gather his courage. “You’re right. I do know that. It’s just—I don’t know, love, I still can’t help but to be a little nervous. It’s mental, I know.” 

“It’s not, Lou. Really, it’s not,” Harry insists, wanting to validate Louis’ feelings. “I mean, yeah, you have no reason to be nervous, but it means a lot to me to know that you care so much about what they think of you. It’s okay to be scared, just know that you don’t have to be, because my family loves you just as much as I do. They always have.” 

Louis nods, his shoulders slumping visibly in relief as he listens to Harry’s gentle reassurances. His nostrils flare as he exhales another deep sigh and turns to Harry, looking much more calm and confident. With his free hand, he seizes Harry’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, drawing him closer and kissing him sweetly. “You’re lovely, you know that? I love you so much, Harry Styles,” he murmurs against Harry’s lips, both of them practically going cross-eyed as they try to maintain eye contact with their foreheads pressed together. 

“I love you, Louis Tomlinson,” Harry giggles, smiling so hard his cheeks ache with it. “More than you will ever know.” 

Louis kisses him twice more on the mouth and once on the nose before he pulls away. 

“Ready?” Harry checks. 

“Let’s do this.” 

Harry taps the facetime icon next to his mum’s name on his phone screen, the familiar, shrill ringtone providing the only sound in the otherwise quiet room as they wait for the call to connect. For a few moments, it’s just their own faces reflecting back at them on the screen, but then the ringing cuts off and Anne is smiling broadly at the two of them. 

“My boys!” She exclaims delightedly. “This is quite the surprise. How are you, darlings?” 

“Hi, mum,” Harry greets warmly, returning his mother’s smile. He can practically feel the tension drain out of Louis, the sight of Anne coupled with her obvious enthusiasm clearly enough for him to realise how unnecessary his nerves had been. “Sorry for calling you so late,” Harry continues, “but it’s sort of important.” 

A small crease appears between Anne’s brows as she looks at the two of them concernedly. “What is it, darling? Is everything alright?” 

“Everything’s fine, Mum,” Harry is quick to assure her. His mouth stretches into a lazy grin, and he ducks his head bashfully as he corrects himself to say, “It’s brilliant, actually.” Unable to help himself, he turns to get a glimpse of Louis. They share a meaningful look, a veritable infinity of words passing between them, before Harry refocuses his attention on the task at hand. His mum is studying them with a curious expression, her eyes keen and assessing. “I have something to tell you...” Harry pauses dramatically, stealing one more quick glance at Louis before taking pity on his mum and finally divulging the big news. “Louis and I are in love.” 

“Harry Edward,” she chides teasingly, her tone dripping with mock disapproval, “I have known that since you brought him to your sister’s wedding when you were eighteen. Tell me something I don’t know.” 

Harry laughs at the nerve of her cheek, although, he supposes he had that coming. “Well, _I_ didn’t know that Louis loved me too, but he does and we’re together now,” he states proudly. Louis’ hand rubs up and down his thigh, and Harry doesn’t need to look at him to know that he’s wearing Harry’s favourite kind of smile, the one that causes him to squint until his gorgeous blue eyes are nothing more than happy little slits. “So, erm, what do you think?” 

“I think,” Anne says thoughtfully, pausing as if to carefully choose her words; there’s a mischievous glint in her eyes, discernible even through the pixilated image on Harry’s mobile screen, “that it’s about damn time.” She beams, looking back and forth between the two of them with unmistakable warmth. “My boys,” she sighs wistfully, her hand coming up to her chest and resting over her heart as her eyes well up with tears. “That’s the best news I’ve heard all year.” 

“Mum,” Harry groans, “it’s literally the first of January.” He scoffs and rolls his eyes affectionately at her cheekiness while Louis laughs his soft, raspy laugh beside him.

She waves him off with an eye roll of her own. “When we’re all back home, we’ll have to come down to London for a proper celebration. See if we can’t drag your sister and Thayer along as well, hm?” 

“That sounds lovely,” Louis answers sincerely, charming as ever. He smiles gratefully at Anne and twists his fingers into the hair at the nape of Harry’s neck, playing with his long curls. Harry hums contentedly and leans closer, preening under the attention. Louis huffs out a soft, breathy chuckle and scratches at Harry’s scalp, his smile still firmly in place. 

“Well, I won’t keep you,” Anne says, a knowing look on her face that makes Harry’s cheeks heat a little. His mum has always been entirely too perceptive, even as far as mums go. “I’m sure you have more important things to be doing. More phone calls to make. I’m so happy for you, loves. You have no idea. Take care of each other and we’ll speak soon about that visit, hm?” 

“Sounds perfect, mum,” Harry agrees. “Love you.” 

“Love you, baby. You too, Louis dear.” 

“Love you,” Louis returns easily, his hand massaging the back of Harry’s neck. “Please give our best to Robin as well.” 

“Oh, I will. Don’t you worry about that. He’s going to be so cross that he missed this. I probably should have woken him.” 

“Nah,” Harry counters with a slight shake of his head, “he works so hard. He deserves to rest. We’ll catch him up in person when we see you.” 

“I’ll let him know. Goodnight boys!” 

“Goodnight,” they chorus with a giggle, giddy at the prospect of their own day just beginning. 

They facetime Louis’ family next. Due to the fact that Louis’ mum has to share the screen with all six of his younger siblings as well as his stepfather, it’s understandably much more chaotic. It also lasts about three times as long as their phone call to Anne had because they have to keep repeating themselves over all the excited yelling and squealing from his sisters. Despite the madness, the outcome is much the same as it had been with Harry’s mum – no one is surprised at their news, but they’re all definitely thrilled about it. 

After they ring off, Harry can’t help but to marvel at how fortunate they are, not only because they have each other, but also because they both come from such loving, supportive families where their parents and siblings are invested in their lives and truly care about their happiness. 

Lastly, they call Gemma who smirks knowingly before Harry even has the chance to open his mouth to share their news. Only after she spends a solid five minutes telling the both of them off for being absolute idiots and gives them the requisite arse-chewing for taking so long to get their shit together does she allow herself to break down – tears streaming down her face as she expresses how genuinely happy she is for the two of them. Thayer pops in at the tail end of their conversation and offers his own heartfelt congratulations. They agree to Anne’s suggestion of a celebratory visit once they’re all back on English soil, promising they ‘wouldn’t miss it for the world.’ 

Satisfied that all the most important people in their lives are now properly up to date on their change in relationship status, Harry and Louis decide to pass the remainder of their alone time by getting all tangled up on the sofa and indulging in a leisurely snog. They kiss slow and sweet until their lips are swollen and their cheeks ache from the excessive amounts of smiling they’ve been doing in the past twelve hours, and Harry thinks he’d quite like to do this for the rest of his life. It’s worth the soreness in his cheeks when he grins at the realisation that he can now do just that.

*

“Well, lads,” Louis says later when all five boys are sitting at the dining table having just finished eating lunch together. They had unanimously opted for takeaway, which Harry and Louis had driven in to town to pick up, simply for the chance to spend more time in each other’s company without being interrupted. Over the course of their meal, the two of them had recounted the abridged, family-friendly version of the previous evening’s events for the other boys. Now, as Louis speaks, he spreads his arms wide and arches his back in a stretch. Harry smiles when one of those arms snakes around his shoulders and pulls him closer. “This has been lovely, but if you don’t mind I’d really like to go be naked with Harry now. We’ve got four years worth of catching up to do.”

“Hand over the keys to the Audi and we’ll make ourselves scarce,” Niall bargains with a waggle of his brows.

“What do you think, baby?” Louis asks, sliding his hand up Harry’s thigh and kissing just below his ear.

Unsurprisingly, Harry surrenders the keys without a fuss. Niall whoops and snags them off the table.

Louis seems completely oblivious to anything other than the love bite he’s currently sucking into Harry’s neck. His hand moves from Harry’s thigh to the waistband of his joggers where he uses his fingertip to draw a line along the narrow strip of exposed skin where Harry’s jumper has been rucked up. The action sends a chill down Harry’s spine and causes him to emit a low whimper.

“Jesus,” Zayn laughs, getting to his feet and making for the exit, “at least wait until we leave the room.”

“Walk faster, then,” Louis practically growls, drawing breathless giggles out of Harry as his hand slips under the hem of his jumper.

“Fucking hell. They’re going to be insufferable now, aren’t they?” Harry hears Liam snort as the other three boys file out of the kitchen.

“Mm,” Louis purrs, hand moving with intent under Harry’s jumper, “alone at last.”

“Whatever shall we do?” Harry asks with faux innocence, a cheeky grin stretching his face.

Louis shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “I have a few ideas.”

One such idea turns out to be Louis stripping Harry naked and using one of the soft, cashmere scarves from the coat cupboard as a makeshift blindfold. He carefully ties it around Harry’s head to cover his eyes, then lays him out on the bed and spends more than an hour just breathing over his bare skin and teasing him with light, tantalising touches that drive Harry absolutely mad. When he’s satisfied that he’s turned Harry into a proper mess – gasping and begging as he writhes in pleasure and feverishly clutches the sheets – he plays with Harry’s nipples until he comes untouched, just as he had promised to do the night before. Harry returns the favour by getting his mouth on every single inch of Louis’ body and eventually licking him out until he cries.

Afterwards, they take a long, luxurious bath together where they exchange lazy kisses and tender touches as they wash away the remnants of their earlier activities from each other’s bodies. Once they’ve dried off and gotten dressed (Louis stealing yet another one of Harry’s jumpers) they snuggle up on the sofa and fall asleep watching a film, which is how the boys find them when they return to the chalet around dinner time. All in all, it’s a very productive afternoon.

* 

That night, as they’re laying in bed in one of the rooms downstairs – the other boys having banished them from the loft for the sake of their collective sanity – Harry is reflecting on the events of the past day, and he can’t resist the urge to rib Louis a bit for something he had said in the heat of the moment. “Hey, Lou,” he prompts, his tone already betraying his devious intentions as he fails to keep it even and casual. “Remember last night when you basically proposed to me during sex?” 

“What?” Louis gasps, his hand coming up to clutch at his chest dramatically. “I did not!” 

“You said you were going to marry me,” Harry reminds him, his heart soaring at the mere memory. 

“Yes,” Louis acknowledges sassily, “but that wasn’t a proper proposal. I just thought me wanting to marry you was a given.” He stops to shift their position, shuffling around until they’re both lying on their sides facing each other. He takes Harry’s face in his hands, his blue eyes piercing and his tone abruptly serious. “When I propose to you, Harry, I promise you’ll know it. There won’t be a single doubt in your mind as to what’s happening. When I propose to you, I will get down on one knee and I will look you in the eyes the way you deserved to be looked at.” 

“Lou,” Harry whines, his voice cracking audibly as his throat thickens with emotion. 

Louis strokes along Harry’s cheekbones with both his thumbs and leans forward to kiss him quiet. When he pulls back, his eyes are just as intense as before, but there’s a familiar sparkle in them, and Harry just knows he’s about to say something cheeky. “When I propose, it will be with a ring, and it will be bloody perfect,” he says with a kiss to Harry’s fourth finger on his left hand. The corners of his mouth twitch into a devilish smirk, “…so prepare to have your sappy little arse proper wooed, Styles, because I’m going to romance the shit out of you. And then I’m going to marry you so hard you won’t even know what hit you.” 

Harry’s so in love he can’t see straight. He laughs until his voice is hoarse and his abdominal muscles ache from the strain of it. Somewhere in the midst of his hysterics, Louis joins in, their laughter combining to form the most exquisite harmony. Eventually, when they can’t laugh any more because they’ve both run out of breath, they turn to kissing instead. It only serves to exacerbate the whole lack of breathing issue, of course, but with Louis’ lips pressed against his, Harry decides that oxygen is overrated. “Can’t wait,” he whispers just before he falls asleep in Louis’ arms. 

* 

For their last full day together, the boys decide to take a day trip over the border to Italy. It’s less than a two hour drive to the Aosta Valley region where there’s no shortage of picturesque little ski villages that are perfect for them to explore. 

They spend the morning shopping in one such cosy little village that none of them – save for Zayn – can pronounce the name of. The town square is quaint and charming and the snowy mountains in the distance provide an idyllic backdrop, but it’s the feel of Louis’ hand in Harry’s that holds his attention above all else. As hopelessly in love as they are, it would be so easy for them to spend the day off in their own little world, but they intentionally make an effort not to seclude themselves from the other boys, knowing that their time together is rare and precious. They do, however, remain glued to each other’s sides, anchored by their joined hands, as they laugh and converse with their friends. 

When it’s getting closer to lunch time and Niall’s casual suggestions that maybe they should think about stopping for food sometime soon abruptly shift into him demanding that they get something to eat ‘ _right the fuck now before I pass out for the love of God_ ,’ Liam pulls out his phone and finds them a cosy little café with good reviews and a heated outdoor patio where they can sit and enjoy the beautiful scenery whilst they eat. Niall, who is quickly approaching “hangry” status, immediately agrees and heads for the door of the vintage shop they’ve been browsing for the past hour, tapping his foot impatiently and shooting daggers at the other boys with a look that clearly says, ‘ _move your arses_.’ 

Louis had just slipped away to the loo a few minutes ago, so Harry – feeling sympathetic to Niall’s plight – politely offers to let the other boys go ahead to the café and get them a table whilst he stays behind to wait for Louis. Liam assents easily and Niall already has one foot out the door before Harry is even finished offering, but Zayn speaks up to say that he needs to have a wee as well and insists that he be the one to wait for Louis. Harry can’t help but frown a little in disapproval, but he takes one look at Niall’s pleading expression and acquiesces, not wanting to waste time arguing. Logically, he knows it’s ridiculous of him to be upset, that he’ll be seeing Louis in just a few short minutes, but his heart can’t seem to get with the program and he pouts the entire walk to the café. 

When they arrive, Liam secures them a table next to one of the outdoor heaters and the three of them slide into their chairs, Harry selecting the one facing the street so he can keep an eye out for Louis (and Zayn). They order tea and hot chocolate and a charcuterie platter to tide Niall over until the other two join them, and it’s not long before Harry spies Louis’ familiar red beanie and Zayn’s dark quiff amidst the small afternoon crowd strolling through the town square. When they’re still a couple metres away, Louis says something to Zayn and hands him a small, wrapped package, which Zayn accepts with a crooked grin and slides into the pocket of his coat. Curious, Harry makes a mental note to ask Louis about it later, but, at the moment, he’s too distracted by admiring how utterly beautiful his boyfriend is to dwell on it too much. 

As Louis and Zayn approach their table, Harry gets to his feet and practically throws himself at Louis, greeting him with a hug and immediately lacing their fingers together once again. Louis chuckles fondly at Harry’s dramatics, but reciprocates the gesture when he slumps down into an empty chair and unabashedly pulls Harry down on top of him. His arms encircle Harry’s waist as Harry sits sideways across his lap and presses their foreheads together. 

“Missed you,” he murmurs quietly, trying to keep the moment between just the two of them. His hair falls forward like a curtain, concealing them slightly from the world around them and adding to the illusion of privacy. 

“Missed you too, baby,” Louis replies, leaning forward to capture Harry’s lips in a kiss so soft and tender Harry feels like he might float away. 

The moment is broken when Liam groans in mock exasperation from across the table and Niall wolf-whistles at them in between stuffing his face with bits of prosciutto. 

“See, this is why we never intervened before, lads,” Liam states, pointing at them menacingly with a piece of baguette. 

“We knew you would be insufferable once you finally got your shit together,” Zayn finishes for him, taking the words right out of Liam’s mouth. 

Liam clinks his mug of hot chocolate against Zayn’s in a silent cheers of camaraderie. “Come to think of it,” he chuckles, “you were already pretty insufferable before actually.” 

Louis flips them off with both hands, but otherwise ignores them in favour of kissing Harry harder and pulling him further into his lap. They’re met with a chorus of groans from their three friends, but Harry knows it’s all show, that they’re really thrilled for him and Louis. He doesn’t return to his own chair for rest of their lunch. 

* 

Like all good things, eventually their holiday must come to an end, and the next morning finds the five of them loading up the SUV (Louis once again taking advantage of every opportunity to complain about Liam’s excessive amount of baggage) and piling in to make the trip back down to the train station. Harry and Louis hang around to see each of the boys off, waiting until they’ve all boarded their respective trains before grabbing tea and pastries for their own long journey ahead and then finally hitting the road. 

They decide to split the drive in half with each of them having a turn at the wheel, and Harry offers to take the first shift. The initial part of the drive requires intense focus as it’s an absolute mess of roundabouts and hard-to-pronounce street names that all blur together. Even though Harry has made the drive several times throughout his life, he still has to put all his effort into concentrating on the road, which is why it takes him a while to register Louis’ hand slowly creeping up his thigh from where it hand been resting innocuously just above his knee. 

His breath catches in his throat as Louis’ pinkie finger dips between his thighs to trace the inseam of his tight, black skinny jeans. He chances a quick glance to his left only to find Louis blinking at him angelically, the picture of innocence. As soon as Harry returns his attention to the road, Louis’ hand slides up even further until it’s hovering right over where Harry’s cock has inevitably started to thicken up in his jeans. He shoots his boyfriend a warning look even as he feels his stomach begin to quake with a familiar spark of arousal. Louis grins wickedly, licking his lips as he applies more pressure to properly cup Harry over his trousers. 

“ _Lou_ ,” Harry admonishes as sternly as he can possibly manage, even as he already feels his resolve start to crumble. 

“Hazza, babe,” Louis says conversationally. 

Harry squeaks as Louis’ fingers expertly feel out the shape of him through the tight denim encasing his lower half. “Y-yeah?” He stutters out drunkenly, desperately trying to maintain some semblance of composure. 

“Remember that song you sang a couple nights ago at the pub when we did karaoke with the lads?” Louis queries as his hand moves to the waistband of Harry’s jeans, hovering just over the zip meaningfully. “Something about head while you’re driving...?” 

Harry is full on suffering at this point, sweat starting to bead at his temples, but he’s determined not to let Louis have all the fun. He’s not the only one who knows how to play flirty little games. “Hmm,” Harry hums, pretending to think it over. “Kinda rings a bell. Care to refresh my memory?” 

“You cheeky fucking minx,” Louis accuses in a low, raspy voice that’s so bloody sexy it should be illegal. His fingers deftly pop the button of Harry’s jeans and slide down the zip. “Don’t act like you don’t know how unforgettable that was. What a bloody tease you are...” He trails off pointedly as he shoves his whole hand down the front of Harry’s pants and starts stroking him without preamble. 

Harry throws his head back against the seat, gripping the wheel like a lifeline, his knuckles gone completely white. “Lou, Lou, Lou, I’m going to crash the fucking car.” 

“Pull over then, baby. Let me get my mouth on you.”

“Fuck,” Harry mutters as he peers through the windscreen to frantically scan the motorway in front of them for the nearest exit point. He nearly cries in relief when he catches sight of a small access road a few kilometres ahead. His mind is in a lust-induced fog, and Louis still hasn’t taken his bloody hand off of him, but he somehow manages to signal and complete the turn, pulling them off to safety. 

He’s barely shifted the car into park before Louis is pouncing on him and tearing at his clothes, peeling his jeans and pants down his legs in one go. He leans over the centre console, contorting his body in a way that makes Harry’s back twinge in sympathy. Louis, to his credit, seems entirely unbothered as he wraps a hand around Harry’s length and gazes up at him with blown pupils. “Just wanna get you off, baby. You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he whispers hotly, leaning down to teasingly brush his parted lips over the sensitive head of Harry’s cock. Precome paints his lips like a slick of translucent gloss, and Harry doesn’t even bother trying to stifle his groan at the sight. Louis makes a show of licking it off, closing his eyes and moaning indulgently as he murmurs, “taste so sweet, kitten.” 

Harry whines and cants his hips upwards, chasing the alluring heat of Louis’ lush mouth, the tantalising flick of his clever tongue. Louis smirks at him knowingly and teases him with one more lascivious lick of his lips before he takes him all the way down without warning. 

“ _Louis_ ,” Harry whimpers as he digs his fingertips into the pale, tender flesh of his own thighs and drags them upwards, his nails leaving behind angry red lines in their wake.

Louis seizes one of Harry’s wrists, stilling his hand and guiding it into his hair instead as he continues to bob his head up and down. Harry’s breath hitches in understanding, and he gives the longer strands at the nape of Louis’ neck a tentative, experimental tug. Louis arches his back and moans around Harry’s cock, and it’s so insanely _hot_ that Harry comes right then and there without even having the chance to warn Louis. Louis takes it in stride, though, only sputtering for a couple seconds before pulling up so that only the head of Harry’s cock remains in his mouth and sucking him through it. 

“Sorry!” Harry apologises sheepishly as soon as Louis pops off. He reaches out to thumb over Louis’ slightly swollen lips, his other hand gently caressing his cheek. “ ‘M really sorry, Lou. I didn’t mean to—” 

“No worries, love,” Louis placates with a breathy chuckle, pressing a sweet kiss to the pad of Harry’s thumb. He shrugs demurely, looking like absolute sin as he gazes up at Harry from beneath his lashes. “I liked it.” 

“Ughh,” Harry groans and presses the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. “You’re going to be the death of me – of both of us – you nearly made me drive off the road.” 

Louis smirks in smug satisfaction. “I regret nothing.” 

Harry’s eyes zero in on the prominent bulge in the front of Louis’ black adidas joggers. “Can I return the favour? Please?” 

Louis bites his lip provocatively and slides his joggers down over the curve of his hips. When his cock springs free, he takes it in his hand and slowly starts stroking it, putting on a show for Harry as he moans and thumbs over the tip where he’s leaking profusely. “Yeah?” He asks breathlessly. “This what you want?” 

Harry can’t move, can’t even bloody see straight. The overwhelming amount of lust he feels is so substantial, so demanding, that he has no capacity to feel or do anything else. Even his basic bodily functions such as thinking and breathing have been compromised, affected as he is by the depth of his desire, the strength of his need for Louis. Finally, he manages a feeble nod. 

Louis positively beams in response, clearly pleased with Harry’s reaction. “Have at me, darling,” he says cheekily, spreading his arms wide as if in offering. 

* 

After their spontaneous little roadside romp, they determine that it’s as good a time as any to break out the sandwiches Harry had packed them for lunch. They eat quickly, eager to get back on the road so they can get home to their flat as soon as possible. They’re not quite yet to the halfway point, but Louis volunteers to take over at the wheel anyway, and Harry agrees because he’s still feeling a bit disoriented from the strength of his orgasm earlier. 

Louis’ strong, yet delicate-looking hands grip the steering wheel as he confidently and adeptly navigates them back out onto the motorway and – _oh dear_ , Harry’s getting hot just watching him. Which, okay, he definitely didn’t realise that the whole ‘operating a vehicle’ thing was a turn on for him, but apparently it is. Though he guesses it has more to do with _Louis_ than with the actual driving itself. Either way, Louis chews on his lower lip in concentration as he signals and merges into the flow of traffic, and Harry wants to pull over again so he can get Louis naked in the backseat and lick every single inch of his body. _God_. 

“You alright there, love?” Louis asks amusedly, a knowing glint in his eyes. 

“Mhmm,” Harry manages to whimper. Even to his own ears, it doesn’t sound remotely convincing. 

Louis just smirks at him and reaches for his hand, linking their fingers together atop the centre console and rubbing soothing circles into the taut skin that stretches between Harry’s thumb and the knuckle of his forefinger—and now Harry is thinking about Louis' fingers... _great_. Christ, it’s barely been an hour since he had Louis’ head between his thighs and he’s already hard up for it again. It’s ridiculous, honestly, he’s worse than a thirteen-year-old boy. He can’t help it though, not when Louis is so close to him being all... _Louis-like_ – so fucking sexy and so fucking _much_ in general. Now that Harry knows what it’s like to have him, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be completely soft again. There are worse fates, he supposes. 

* 

Harry falls asleep somewhere around France and wakes a short time later to the sound of Louis’ soft voice whispering, “We’re home, love.” He smiles blearily as he smoothes Harry’s curls back from his face and strokes his cheek tenderly. 

Harry reaches for his other hand and brings it up to his mouth to kiss along Louis’ knuckles, watching him with heavy-lidded eyes. 

“Home,” he repeats happily, the word having a whole new meaning now that he knows the kind of love that is going to fill their flat thanks to the recent change in their relationship status. He recalls the night he spent with Louis when he was homesick during his first term at uni, and how he had comforted Harry and took care of him even then when they barely knew each other. Harry found his home at eighteen when he first looked up into the blue of Louis’ eyes and felt his heart swell and flutter at the sight. Every day since that first one has just been a journey to where he truly belongs. He may have taken the scenic route, but he got to where he was meant to be eventually. Now, with his lips pressed to Louis’ knuckles and those same blue eyes looking at him in a way that makes him feel whole, after four long years, Harry is finally home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there you have it. That's all, folks.  
> *Harry voice* _Or is it??_
> 
> Surprise! I'm working on writing an epilogue from Louis' POV, so while this story is complete as it currently stands (and I have marked it as such) there's still a bit more in this 'verse to look forward to. I'm not sure when I'll be posting it (what else is new? :P) but I've written about 5k of it so far. 
> 
> If you haven't already subscribed to this fic, and the epilogue is something you'd be interested in reading, you might want to go ahead and do so now. That way you will get the handy little notification when it goes up :)
> 
> Okay...I'm pretty sure if this was an acceptance speech at an awards show, they'd be giving me the not so subtle "wrap it up" music right about now...
> 
> To sum it all up: thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone who reads this. I sincerely hope you enjoyed it, and I also hope something wonderful happens to you today :)
> 
> Unitl next time, lovelies. Take care xx.
> 
> I finally (somewhat) figured out how to make fic posts on tumblr, and I'm slowly going through all my works and making a mood board/fic post for each one. If you you fancy giving this one a reblog here's the link:  
> [](<div)<https://seducemymind-findmysoul.tumblr.com/post/175892276021>


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